


Arms

by 2for1Dragons



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Archery, Backstory, Blood and Injury, Bushido - Freeform, Canon Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Dad Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Dark Past, Deadlock Gang, Denial of Feelings, Emotions, Eventual Relationships, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Food, Genji the Philosopher, Getting to Know Each Other, Hanamura (Overwatch), Hanzo Angst, Headcanon, Hidden Talents, High Noon for days, Hurt/Comfort, Implied BunnyRibbit - Freeform, Injury, Japanese, Jesse McCree & Genji Shimada Are Best Friends, Latin, M/M, McCree is a total dork, McHanzo - Freeform, Mom Ana Amari, My First Fanfic, Other characters are briefly mentioned - Freeform, Pining, Post-Recall, Shimada Clan, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Sojiro Shimada - Freeform, Strangers to Lovers, Symbolism, Teaching, Team Talon (Overwatch), Trauma, Watchpoint: Gibraltar, Weapons, Young Jesse McCree, weapon swap
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-03-31 18:39:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 44,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13981030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2for1Dragons/pseuds/2for1Dragons
Summary: Arms (noun):1. Weapons and ammunition.2. The two upper limbs of the human body from the shoulder to the hand.3. Used to hold someone tightly in a hug, typically to express affection.Storm Bow is to Peacekeeper Revolver as ink is to metal; they just don't know it yet. When the jovial gunman and stoic archer are ordered to collaborate, it sets off a series of events neither could have foreseen coming.**NEXT UPDATE: Currently trying to make headway on another project. Chapter 21 has been outlined, though! Tags and characters will be updated as I progress**This is my first work ever, all feedback is welcome!





	1. Dragon of the South Wind

**Author's Note:**

> What would a fan fiction be without a disclaimer, am I right? :D
> 
> **All characters and locations mentioned in this work are the intellectual property of Blizzard Entertainment, and are being used solely under creative license to appeal to my nerdy needs**
> 
> Now that that's out of the way, welcome! First things first~ if you couldn't tell already, I'm an Overwatch diehard! As of the time of this writing, I have 498 hours spent in game on PS4 on my main account. Yes, I am a Hanzo main XD I've wanted to venture into fan fiction for a while now but couldn't find a subject I was passionate enough about. Problem solved! 
> 
> I started this work in February but am finally getting around to unleashing it unto the interwebs. Please keep in mind that this is my first time ever writing a fic, but of course I welcome all comments! My validation gremlin and I thank you in advance for reading :3

Custom; routine; tradition. If there was one thing that Hanzo Shimada prided himself on, it was his unwavering commitment to consistency. Each day was like the last, beginning and ending with the rise and fall of the sun. As dawn broke over Watchpoint Gibraltar, the archer could be found meticulously making his bed. His refurbished accommodations here were a far cry from the luxe splendor of his quarters in Hanamura, but he knew deep down that his right to any sort of decadence had been lost long ago. Once he was sure the sheets were smoothed to his liking, he went to freshen up and put on his customary attire. Before tying up his jet-black hair, he combed through it nine times- one for every occasion his brother had bested him during their weekly practice spars as youths. Despite his conceit, Hanzo had retained _some_ humility. It came as no surprise to him how this very same number could also be heard in their native tongue as suffering, torture, or agony… After years of travelling the globe, he still had come no closer to finding the answers he so desperately needed.

 

 _Seigaiha_ scarf in hand he paused, left arm tingling. He gazed into the small, cracked bathroom mirror at his dragon tattoo. It had always been his greatest honour to bear it on his skin, to channel the power of the guardian spirits that had protected his ancestors for generations. Their souls were united; their strength flowing through his veins. It was also one of the only pieces of home that he had left. He knew that he would be utterly lost in this world without them, as his joys were few and far between. Hanzo grew concerned; he had not felt the dragons so perturbed in ages. The disturbance soon passed, but such an episode could not be ignored; he would have to remain extra vigilant in the days ahead. Once he had found his center again, he stepped out into the salty air to begin his morning training- bowstring taut, quiver loaded, mind focused.

 

*****

 

 

 Two hours later, Hanzo returned to his room to meditate. For him it was a necessity, a chance to reflect on his progress and devotion to his craft. But without fail, his thoughts would eventually drift to the past. Conjured images of soft pink cherry blossoms delicately lining the grounds of the family estate... and aged wooden floorboards sullied with blood. In the self-made prison that was his mind, there was no present or future- only an unchanging past. It was a burden that he knew he deserved to bear. A strong knock at the door disturbed his silent contemplation. Having abruptly lost his concentration, Hanzo got up from his _seiza_ position and walked over to begrudgingly greet his visitor. He calmly opened his door to find a certain Jesse McCree: tall, scruffy, and certainly an unexpected sight. The two had had minimal interaction since Hanzo had arrived at the revived Overwatch base a few months ago. But, Hanzo had promptly picked up on his recklessness, clumsiness, and most definitely his loudness. In short, they were polar opposites. He quickly gave the cowboy a once-over; what sort of business could the oaf have with him at this hour?

 

“McCree… I did not anticipate having any guests… no matter. How may I be of service?” he asked plainly, temporarily ignoring his irritation. “Well howdy there, Hanzo! Say, Winston sent me over ‘cause he reckons we could use more team… synonym, was it? Mind’s a bit foggy, hehe. Anyway, he put all of us up in pairs to learn about each other’s weapons all strategic-like, and it looks like I’m your huckleberry!” he smiled enthusiastically, with thumbs up. Hanzo kept his skepticism to himself while noting the stupidly large grin on McCree’s face. Of all the things that could have come out of the man’s mouth, this request was the last thing he wanted to hear. He, a Shimada, wield a gun? A preposterous idea indeed! Cooperation had never been his strong suit, but the stern words of his late father echoed in his mind: “Remember Hanzo, you do what you must… no excuses.” Hanzo sighed: “I believe you mean team _synergy,_  if I am not mistaken.” Hanzo scoffed to himself at his visitor's display of buffoonery. He paused for a moment before stating his reply- he had to be civil, after all. “Very well, I will comply with this bidding… but we will proceed on my terms. Is this acceptable?” “Welp, as long as none of them arrows find their way into my noggin, I’ve got no complaints, partner.” McCree chuckled. Hanzo placed his hand on the door, subtly signalling the end of his willingness to participate in the conversation. “Fine. I shall come to collect you at 0500 hours. I implore you to keep in mind that I will _not_ tolerate being kept waiting. If that is all that you require from me, I bid you good day.” With that, he turned to feverishly seal himself away in his lair- the day’s meditation would have to be substituted with a much needed, soothing cup of tea.

 

*****

 

McCree stood alone in the seemingly endless, painfully barren hallway- completely thrown off guard. The brief encounter with the elder Shimada had left him stupefied. He expected Hanzo to be a standoffish stick-in-the-mud, but not nearly to this extent. He didn’t recall the last time they had spoken, but based on Hanzo’s piercing glare he assumed that it hadn’t been a feel-good moment. His right hand subconsciously met the back of his neck: “Damn, that Hanzo’s pricklier than a cactus… I take it he don’t much like chattin’.” he muttered to himself. He was no open book either, but the southern gentleman was accustomed to people effortlessly warming up to him. Usually all it took was some wisecracking and whiskey, but he knew better than anyone else that the same strategy couldn’t be applied here. If he wanted to waste his time, he might as well shoot the breeze with a brick wall. Why had Winston paired them up, anyway? The other duos were much more logical: Orisa and Reinhardt, Soldier: 76 and Tracer, Mercy and Ana, etc. Couldn’t he have worked with Genji instead, for old time’s sake? He figured he had made it through worse. He’d just have to work as best as he could with a stubborn armadillo; he’d get that armor down somehow. Reminded of the younger dragon brother, McCree decided (despite his apprehension) to spend the rest of the day preparing for the daunting meeting on the morrow. Perhaps the sparrow could give him some advice as to how to break the alarmingly thick ice.

 

The gunslinger made his way out of the main building to check the outskirts of the watchpoint, only accompanied by the faint screeching of seagulls surveying the coast below and the clinking of spurs that could be heard after each of his steps. He had previously asked around for the whereabouts of the Omnic monk and his cyborg student, but the only insight that Hana had to offer while heavily invested in a video game was that they were probably “around somewhere doing Iris stuff”. McCree didn’t believe in that spiritual mumbo-jumbo, but those two were good folks in his books. Just when he was about to abandon the search, he spotted a harsh glint of bright light out of the corner of his eye. He walked towards the source to investigate, squinting to shield his vision. Sitting sunward and cross-legged on the grand rocks by the water’s edge were Zenyatta and Genji Shimada, clearly lost in profound thought. “Well ain’t you boys shiny today! Freshly polished?” he called from above with a laugh. He knew that they would accept his comment in jest. Genji couldn’t resist rolling his eyes, even though they were obscured by his mask. McCree hadn’t changed one bit since their Blackwatch days, ever persistent with his lame jokes. “Ahh, Jesse! Peace be upon you. I am pleased to see you well.” Zenyatta said cheerily. “Hello, McCree. Master and I were focusing on channelling our positive energies, as we do every afternoon at this time. Would you like to join us?” Genji asked kindly, mindful of the presence of his mentor. He was no fool- he had a hunch as to why McCree had sought him out. There was only _one_ other possible topic besides missions. “Err, no uh- that’s quite alright. Mind if I trouble you to help a guy out, Gen? Cross my heart it won’t take long.” Genji’s tone shifted from polite to serious: “Does it concern my brother? ...Master, please excuse me.” The pupil stood to deeply bow to his teacher, and with his superhuman agility on display, swiftly scaled the rocks to join the man above.

 

*****

 

McCree and Genji were no strangers to being in one another’s presence, so the long walk back to base would be smooth. As members of Blackwatch, they had spent countless hours side by side both on and off the battlefield- nothing like cheating death on the daily to bring two people closer together. They had never been the best of friends back then; they themselves had had a rocky start. But their closeness developed and endured, despite McCree’s choice to cut all ties after the organization’s disbandment. They had a solid mutual understanding- both had been ghosts just trying to find their place to belong in the world until Overwatch came along. With that came an unspoken promise to always watch each other’s backs. After a few silent moments had passed, Genji initiated the discussion as they continued their stroll. “There is no need to explain your situation, McCree. I know why you wish to speak to me.” “Is that so? Ha, nothing gets past you don’t it Mr. Psychic. You got an antenna in there or somethin'? Go on then, hit me.” “Hanzo was assigned to train with you at my request. I ask that you hear me out.” McCree, eyes closed, stroked his beard as he pondered the invitation. He sauntered over to a nearby storage container, propping himself against the side of it. “Seems I’d best get comfortable then.” Genji did not stir to join him. Back turned to his audience of one, he began to speak- his tone mournful.

 

“My brother has not always been the man that you see today.” The sorrow in his speech was almost tangible as he spoke of his sibling. “There was once a time when there was love in his heart, but as we grew older, it faded away… By our father’s doing, it was slain by obligation and responsibility. The clan had no time or patience for pointless emotions, and relationships were merely catalysts for self gain- flawless illusions to keep business running smoothly. Your allies were also your greatest foes.” This wasn’t the first time McCree had heard details about the enigmatic history of the Shimada brothers; Reyes had briefed him before Genji had gained clearance for Blackwatch deployment. What was Genji implying here? “What about you, then... You were livin' the good life, weren’t cha? Why so glum?” Dejected, but not offended, Genji calmly replied. “I was able to live as I wished while Hanzo was conditioned to serve. While he was being robbed of his youth, I indulged in the entitlement that accompanied our family name. My father did not bother to keep me at his beck and call. I am at peace with who I was, but am ashamed of my selfishness. Hanzo…” his voice thinned, his thoughts wandering. “--I should have been there to support him instead of chasing my material desires.” McCree knew first hand how fresh the wounds of the past could feel... he’d been through some dire straits of his own. He, while lending a sympathetic ear, was curious to see where this discussion was taking them. “Shit, Genji... you know you don’t need to stir your own pot for me. I don’t need to know it all. Last thing you need is all your work with Zenyatta goin' to waste. I reckon what’s done is done, end of story… gotta make the most of today. So give it to me straight- what’s this got to do with yours truly?”

 

In a moment of absolute seriousness, Genji removed his mask in order to look his confidant straight in the eye. He freed his face from its metal vessel, revealing a profile marred by a mess of glossy flat scars. These remnants of his brother’s brutality were outshone by his striking brown eyes, which conveyed immeasurable resolve through his placid gaze. It was a rare sight to see the true visage of “Sparrow”, but not new for McCree. “Jesse…” Genji seldom used McCree’s first name. “After I confronted Hanzo as he made his offering in Shimada Castle, I sent him a letter detailing the recall and my whereabouts. It had taken me ten years to reconcile with my emotions, to face my own demons. I simply told him that I forgave him. My final words to him were “ _if this is truly goodbye, I wish for your happiness_.” The fact that he came here shows that he wants to absolve himself of his sins. Of that I am certain.” He let out a heavy sigh, the weight of an agony filled decade enormous. He said his next words with utmost conviction. “My greatest wish in this life is for my brother to find the same peace as I have. I long for him to know that his existence is not a blight on this earth. I believe that the first step is for him to experience companionship, that I took such solace in. I do not ask this out of pity, but he is the only blood I have left. We cannot return to Japan...” Lifting his stare from the ground, he walked over and put his hand on McCree’s shoulder as he made his plea. “Please Jesse, all I ask is that you consider the possibility of being his friend. At the very least, show him some kindness. I trust no one else with this task.”

  
McCree wasn’t exactly thrilled with the duty he’d been given, but supposed it was a testament to his temperament. Questionable track record with Hanzo aside, there was no way he could say no to eyes filled with such desperation. He chose his words towards his friend carefully. “I can’t promise you miracles Genji, but I gotta pay you back somehow for coverin' my ass all these years. Your brother is a goddamn prick… but I give you my word I’ll try like hell to make nice with ‘im.” McCree saw Genji’s expression instantly soften; he could have sworn he was on the verge of elated tears. After all, Genji Shimada was still very much human. “You are an honourable man, McCree. I thank you, my friend.” He bowed deeply in gratitude and the two returned to base for their next meal, reminiscing all the while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading the first part of "Arms!" I know it's kind of a slow start but I really want to take my time with it.  
> I have more ready to go but want to see how this is received first. All feedback is appreciated! See you soon for more dorks? :)


	2. Iceberg

Piping hot pancakes and a satisfying cup of joe aside, there wasn't much McCree appreciated about mornings. Anyone who was familiar with him knew that his favourite time of day had always been high noon, of course. He realized that he probably should have invested in a proper alarm clock, but he liked to keep things old school. Besides, he couldn’t bear to part with the weathered pocket watch that the commander had gifted him on completion of a crucial Blackwatch mission- which would ultimately be their last. The memories brought him only heartache, but he couldn't let go of them even if he tried. Gabriel Reyes had saved him in more ways than one. As the sun’s rays infiltrated his chambers and crept across his face, he groggily reached over to his night stand for his timepiece. He was feeling fairly confident that he’d adhered to his instructions… that is, until the fog lifted from his sleepy eyes. “-- Shit!” He groaned as he covered his face with his hands. Just his luck, it was already 6 am. Hanzo was going to be, for lack of a better word, pissed. Did he dare venture out from the safe haven of his covers? His accountability stepped in, propelling his body. He frantically threw his sheets to the floor and quickly scrambled to get dressed. If anything, he knew he couldn’t let Genji down- the sparrow had already lost too much. He didn’t want to be the one to put the final nail in the coffin. Frazzled and disheveled, McCree hastily ran over to the practice range- knowing full well he would have to face the music.

 

He endured through his mad dash of shame, huffing and puffing as he noisily sped to the other end of the base. As he timidly approached the entrance to Gibraltar’s practice range, he shuddered at the thought of what awaited him. Nobody intelligent had ever messed with an angry dragon and lived to tell the tale; he was on the fence about making his presence known. McCree could hear the distinct sound of a bowstring’s release as a flurry of arrows was being loosed into innocent metal victims. He peered around a partition to spy on the source of the ferocity, the brim of his hat barely visible to the other side. A few feet away, Hanzo abruptly stopped his assault. He didn’t turn around, but the cowboy knew he had been caught. “....You _insolent_ cur. You were a fool to think that I did not notice you bumbling about. **Show yourself!** " the archer barked. McCree awkwardly came out from hiding and steeled himself for what was guaranteed to be a cold reception. Sure enough, he was subsequently on the receiving end of a side eye of glacial proportions. Hanzo’s eyes were like razor-sharp daggers. The look sent shivers down McCree’s spine; it was more than enough to destroy anybody's bearings. Still, he bravely tried to ease the tension. Maybe the fact that he showed up would earn him a few brownie points? It was more likely that he would get struck by lightning that instant, but nevertheless he persisted. He cleared his throat, praying that all of his body parts would remain attached at the end of the day.

 

“W-Whoa there, Bessie…” he stuttered. Facing Hanzo in this state, he may as well have been submerged in ice water. “Look, I'm real sorry for bein' late. Let's just say that tardiness comes as naturally to me as shootin’. Call me a screw up all you like, wouldn't be the first time I've been chewed out for ruinin’ things. Can’t we let bygones be bygones?” Hanzo made no effort to reply to McCree's niceties, maintaining his furrowed brow and crossed arms. Growing up under the tutelage of assassins meant that he was an expert at suppressing his true thoughts and emotions. Much like an iceberg, the core of his being was hidden away from prying eyes. “Fine, I can take a hint... Jesus. Seein' how you won’t speak to me, can I at least watch you do your fancy arrow stuff from the sidelines if I promise to shut my yap?” Hanzo cast aside his silent contempt, albeit briefly. “Hmph… do as you wish. Your actions do not concern me.” he stated. Hanzo gathered himself and promptly returned to his training while McCree sheepishly wandered over to a large support beam facing the range. It and the immediate surroundings were slightly damp from condensation, but they were near the ocean after all. He plopped himself down, counting his lucky stars that the exchange hadn’t gone as south as he had feared. Seeing as he was already in the doghouse, he figured he may as well make himself comfortable for another hour.

 

McCree turned his attention to the archer in the foreground, though he wasn’t entirely sure what he was supposed to be looking at. Using a bow and arrow seemed simple enough to him. How hard could it be to launch a pointy stick with a string? Child’s play, he thought- real men settle scores with bullets. He mentally relived the first time he ever fired a gun; the heat of the barrel, the sound of the discharge, the smell of the gunpowder. There was nothing like it; he lived for the rush it gave him. Finishing with his daydream, he tried his best to be a respectful observer. At first, he found himself nodding off as he was drawn towards dreamland with the faint crashing of waves. He knew zilch about archery, but he found after a while that watching Hanzo was oddly engaging. His disinterest had morphed into fascination- he was taken aback as to how his attention had been soundly seized by something he knew nothing about. Scarf gently fluttering in the wind, Hanzo’s form was dynamic but graceful. His silhouette was striking, dragon tattoo fittingly framed by a muscular build. His motions were fluid as he fleetly loaded, drew and unleashed his arrows in one continuous loop. It was indisputable to McCree that the man knew what he was doing, but Hanzo didn’t look as satisfied with his own performance as he expected. Something was off... where was his assurance? There was no fire to be found in Hanzo’s eyes, uncomfortably vacant. What he was witnessing was an act perfected after countless performances. McCree wasn’t known for his perception, but could sense that behind such a display of skill was a lingering misery, draining its victim of his zeal. It was a distressing realization to make, but he had been warned. How long had this turbulent battle waged in his head? As the second hour of Hanzo’s session came to a close, the bowman unstrung his weapon and turned to depart for his usual destination. Back to greet his faithful companion, isolation. McCree, being McCree, called out with cupped hands to the hollow body walking away from him on spur of moment. “Hey Hanzo? If there’s any chance ya don’t hate my guts tomorrow, I’ll swing by ‘round 8, got it?” Unsurprisingly, he received no reply- he certainly had his work cut out for him.

 

*****

 

Hanzo felt out of sorts, slightly tired both mentally and physically after the events of the morning. The past two hours, save the intrusion, had been a blur. It was a foreign sensation to him. He had been an imbecile to think that that dolt would actually follow through with his plans. It hadn’t been the first time he’d been disrespected, but why did it sting so much this time around? Had he really been so weak as to be hopeful? To be affected by an outsider? Shameful. What would his father have thought? There was no basis for these emotions. Not allowing such nonsensical concerns to root any further, he quickly banished them from his mind. Other than practice, there wasn’t much to look forward to in his daily life; a pathetic reality indeed. Although the younger Shimada was part machine, he was the robotic one without doubt. As he stiffly paced back and forth in his domain, he again wondered why he was even at Watchpoint Gibraltar. He had zero desire to socialize with anyone on the premises, especially his own brother. One thing Genji _had_ gotten right was leaving him be. It mattered not that Genji longed to appease him; he would have none of it. A truly laughable ambition. Missions brought him no satisfaction, only tasks to be completed as per instruction. Escort. Capture. Eliminate. The search for his reason to draw breath had no end in sight- a fitting punishment for a murderer. The path he walked along was an arduous one, and he sought no company. Jesse McCree… He was unpunctual and infuriating, but in hindsight had turned up on his own accord. Hanzo knew exactly how effortless it was to discard someone like a piece of trash, all too familiar. He would give him one more chance, and one alone. He hoped that the clod would appreciate this rare reprieve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey again! I didn't want this chapter to be as long as the last, so I feel this is is a good place to stop. That last paragraph with Hanzo was pretty blue, huh.... #regretsnothing :P I swear that angst is my fuel XD As always, thank you for reading!


	3. Intrusion

It was 7 am when Genji found himself entering the blatantly obvious passcode to McCree's room. 1-2-0-0… old habits sure died hard. Had they not been roommates back in the day, McCree probably would have slept through most of their vital mission briefings. On this particular morning, Genji was there on special assignment. Operation: Wake Up Call was in full effect, at the request of the recipient himself. In the past Genji had dreaded early starts, but both serving under Blackwatch and living with the Shambali monks had permanently overwritten that mindset. He had grown to love the serenity of the dawn, the pastel sky that painted the landscape. Seeing the sunrise made him grateful to be alive. Based on the snoring being muffled by the heavy door in front of him, there were those that didn't share this admiration at all. He casually strolled towards the origin of the offending noise, unconcerned. It would take a lot more than mere footsteps to rouse this beast. He found his subject sprawled belly down across the mattress, blankets hanging on for dear life at the foot of the bed. McCree’s ensemble featured his favourite pair of tumbleweed print boxers, tousled hair and a lone cow print slipper, accented by a small puddle of drool that had accumulated on his pillow case. How lovely, Genji thought. As much as he wanted to snap a selfie for his own amusement, Genji got down to business. Plan A: Verbal prompts. Probability of success? Low. “McCree… Hey, it’s time to get up.” Lukewarm, Genji. Time to step it up a notch. “MCCREE! REYES WANTS TO SEE YOU IN HIS OFFICE!” His effort was only met with a snort and some slurred sleep talk. “Ayyy heyo boss... howsit goin’? The snoozer giggled- “Hehe, nice hat… Jus fi mo minuz, mkay?” Plan B: Tactical poking. Genji thrust both index fingers into McCree’s left cheek, hoping that the contrasting chill from his metal digits would shock him into consciousness. “Hey bud, watch da goods…” He horked slightly as he inhaled. Plan C: Special move - to be used only as a last resort. Genji smirked impishly as he set up for his supreme manoeuvre. It was criminally foolproof. He planted his feet, gathered air in his lungs, and prepared for the entertaining aftermath.

 

  
“ ** _RYŪJIN NO KEN WO KŪRAE!”_** The booming incantation of Genji’s Dragonblade echoed throughout the cramped quarters. **“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! OH FUCK NO GENJI PLEASE DON’T KILL ME I PROMISE TO NEVER CALL YOU A TOASTER AGAIN!”** After a few seconds of panicked flailing, McCree found himself face down on the floor with his heart beating out of his chest. Gasping for air, his ears eventually registered the sound of Genji’s stifled laughter. “Rise and shine, cowboy… "Justice ain’t gonna dispense itself", correct?” he chuckled naughtily as he admired his handiwork. “ _Goddammit_ Genji, that’s my line! And holy hell, did ya have to give me such a fright?! You near sent me to the grave!” he exclaimed, still jittery. “May I remind you that you called for my “services”, my friend?” Genji said with amusement in his voice.“Yeah yeah, cut the crap already. ‘Spose I should be obliged, right enough. Maybe dial it down a lick next time please? Not ready to meet my maker just yet, y’know.” The mood shifted. “You have not known _true_ fear until you have experienced my brother’s wrath.” “God, Gen… that got dark right quick. Do you enjoy makin’ me feel guilty?” Genji grew quiet. “I apologize, McCree. That was not my intention.” McCree finally got to his feet, stretching as he stood in place. “Hey now, don’t worry ‘bout it. You know I’m just messin’ with ya. I appreciate that you help me put things in perspective n’ all that. If _you_ ever need me, you know where to find me. Why don’tcha skedaddle so I can make myself decent?” “Very well, my work here is done.” He snickered: “You should have seen your face… Priceless!” McCree gave him a playful punch to the shoulder: “Won’t be a sight you’ll be seein’ again. Now get outta here, ya troublemaker.” Genji proceeded to the door, but stopped before he activated the lock. Facing the exit, he paused. “McCree… Promise me you will be wary going forward. Neither Hanzo nor I are the people we used to be. Farewell.” In the blink of an eye, he vanished. McCree was left stag in his sloppy state to ponder Genji’s cryptic statement. Yeesh, couldn’t he use plain English every once in a while? The lithe warrior was mysterious, but unquestionably reliable. Within the hour McCree found himself roaming to Hanzo’s dwelling, hoping to make up for his blunders. Bright eyed and bushy tailed, he felt it was time to seize the day. His first impression had come and gone, but he had never believed in those anyway. So what if he they didn’t get along just yet? He would put his best foot forward, come what may.

 

*****

 

Hanzo didn’t take advantage of the extra two hours of sleep that McCree had inadvertently forced upon him. Instead he found himself lying in bed, fully clothed and staring at the ceiling. His brain scarcely ceased its thought processes, halting only when he had his Storm Bow in hand. He felt as if he would never truly be free from the constraints of his own mind. Any chance of liberation was a fallacy. He realized it had been 3 months since he first set foot on the Gibraltarian coast and he still didn’t have a comprehensive understanding of Overwatch. He had no inkling as to the scope of the organization: their past, their motives, what they hoped to achieve amongst the present chaotic state of world affairs. At this point in time, it mattered not. As he turned out and shuffled over to the side of his bed, he again experienced a stinging sensation spanning his entire left arm. The dragons were bellowing anew, albeit slightly more aggressive than before. It was a precarious situation; this was the second time Hanzo’s guardians had imparted a warning unto him outside of battle in the past week. What was causing this reversal of dormancy? What were they trying to tell him? He recognized that the answers would not be revealed right away; it was best to just take note and sally forth. He had just finished boiling some hot water for his tea when his ears detected a series of metallic clanks coming from outside his entrance. “Hellooooooo? Hanzoooooo? Don’t tell me I need to make an appointment!” He took a peek at the holographic clock on the dull kitchen wall- 7:45. To his amazement, McCree was on stand by and awaiting his appearance.  He felt a small twinge of gladness; the clown had made good on his word after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is kind of short, but I'm waiting for inspiration to strike again! I have a bunch of ideas brainstormed, just not quite sure how to execute them yet. Thank you for 200 hits! :D


	4. Haze

The two embarked on their journey from Hanzo’s hallway to the practice range, but for both men it felt very much like an eternity. McCree awkwardly shuffled along, hands in his pockets, thinking about what he could say to the stark figure by his side. He glanced over at Hanzo, posture erect and strides poised. He certainly knew how to put up a good front, he thought. Although they were in close proximity to each other, the distance between them emotionally was colossal. “Say, you’re pretty handy with that bow.” “Naturally. A Shimada is never second best.” Hanzo retorted. “You been doin’ it long?” “I was educated in the ways of both the sword and bow from birth… but no longer choose to brandish a blade.” “So you can use them glorified knives too, huh? Why’d ya stop?” Hanzo’s reply was subtly laced with hostility: “That is _not_ a matter I wish to discuss.” McCree recognized that he was going further into the minefield, and so redirected the focus onto himself to escape the point of no return. Maybe if he got slightly personal, he could coax Hanzo into doing the same. “Ain’t a lot o’ folks who know this, but I was downright terrified o' guns when I was a kid... bad memories. Heh, never thought I’d end up using one myself. Now I find my shootin’ hand gets mighty restless if I don’t got Peacekeeper in it.” Hanzo was surprised that McCree would reveal a secret of the past to him, but respected it. The gunslinger was right handed, but he couldn’t help peering at McCree’s mechanical left arm out of the corner of his eye as they continued to walk on. To him it was a cold and lifeless limb; the many metallic joints of the artificial fingers had a subdued sheen in the light. He frowned as he harkened back to someone else he knew with such “parts”. He had to admit, he was marginally interested as to the circumstances of its installation, but disowned the thought of asking. Instead, he acknowledged their like behaviour. “Your weapon is an extension of yourself, a source of strength. It is only logical that its absence would affect your subconscious. I too feel peculiar without the Storm Bow close at hand.” McCree couldn’t help but celebrate this small conversational victory- he’d take any gain he could get. It wasn’t much, but it upped his optimism. “Glad we finally agree on somethin’, partner.” McCree said with a smile. “Hmm... so it seems.” Hanzo replied.

 

***** 

 

 _“Welcome Agent McCree, Agent Shimada.”_ Athena’s friendly greeting from above signalled that they had reached their destination. They now found themselves in familiar territory back on the range, surrounded by roaming bots abound and heavily dented stationary targets. Out in the open air, all was peaceful. It was contrary from years past when the base was abuzz with activity: assignments aplenty, combat incessant. The temperature was cool and the clouds overcast, dulling the daylight. McCree took a deep breath of the refreshing, salty breeze birthed from the sea as Hanzo looked off into the distance, waiting for instruction. After a few stretches, McCree cracked his knuckles as he psyched himself into coach mode. “Alrighty! Let’s get this show on the road, Hanzo. Welcome to your first revolver masterclass led by none other than the best in the west!” He didn’t allow Hanzo’s lack of expression to snuff out his fervor. “Please spare me the frills, McCree. We must remain on task.” "Come onnnn, let loose Hanzo! They do know what “fun” is in Japan, don’t they?” he teased. Hanzo huffed: “As master of the Shimada clan, I had no time for frivolous pursuits.” McCree facepalmed; Hanzo was ever the killjoy. “Fine, whatever. Listen- I’m not letting a soul put their grubby paws on my Peacekeeper, so I brought cha my backup. Don’t use it much, so I’ll loan it to ya. Nothin’ to write home about, but it can still pack a punch.” McCree reached for his waist and pulled out a mid-sized firearm from its holster. Hand outstretched, he offered the hardware to his uninspired recipient. Hanzo inspected the item in front of him with reluctance; not only did he feel that this instruction was unneeded, but he also dreaded the prospect of losing face. He loathed being out of his element, avoiding said situations at all cost. “Uh Hanzo? It won’t bite, y’know. Don’t worry, it ain’t loaded.” Hanzo gingerly took the gun from McCree’s palm and held it in his own. It was frightfully alien; he felt as if it was searing his skin, penetrating every layer. Discomfort aside, he took a few moments to analyze what he had been given, clenching the grip and rotating his wrist to view all angles of the revolver. His clan had arranged the purchase, transport and trade of thousands along with other illicit goods, but this was the first time that he had personally handled one. Each sect had their own preference of weapon- these had never been in contention within Hanamura. Swallowing his pride, he commented on his new possession: “I concede that I am unaccustomed with such… equipment. This is certainly different from my tastes.”

 

“I’m sure you’d lovvvve to be bored with the specifics of the thing... but as you know I’m a man of action, not explanation. Let’s get cha set up! You’ll be needin’ _these_ bad boys.” He dove into his pockets and fished out 6 cartridges, one for each slot in the cylinder. The copper projectiles were unassuming, but Hanzo knew the bullets concealed within were nothing to joke about. McCree held one vertically between his thumb and index finger for display, beaming like a proud father. “These beauties are your bread and butter: 9 millimetre rounds, dirt cheap, jack-of-all trades. Not my favourites, but they’ve got a special place in my heart- first shot I ever took was with one o’ these. Ahh, takes me back. Here, lemme load ‘em up for ya.” Hanzo instantaneously passed the gun back to McCree who in a blink of an eye housed the ammunition in their chambers, as he had done countless times before. Hanzo admired this concise display of efficiency and took note. McCree had always been brash, but perhaps he would prove his mettle in due time. “That should do it. How ‘bout I give you a private showin' of Deadeye to get you fired up?” “Must you boast, cowboy?" Hanzo sighed. “If you so insist on such exhibitionism, I ask that you keep it brief.” he said, already exasperated. Hanzo took his place on the sidelines; far from harm’s way, far from thrilled. McCree, however, was giddier than a kid in a candy store upon getting the go-ahead. Striking red serape brought to life by a passing gust, he turned to face the unsuspecting training robots. Feet planted shoulder width apart, he suspended his right hand over his Peacekeeper’s holster. His marks were in sight, ready to be felled. As shadows draped his face under the brim of his hat, his signature line ominously escaped his lips. Hanzo could have sworn he saw the shooter's right eye glow with an eerie blood red hue. _**“It’s high noon…”**_ In a split second, a furious burst of shots sliced through the air as the debris of metal carcasses loudly clanged to the ground. Hanzo’s commentary broke the spell: “You have some skill, then.” McCree smiled slyly as he re-holstered Peacekeeper, patting himself on the back after a job well done. “Puhleaze, Hanzo- no need to hold your applause to be polite. Admit it, you thought it was straight up badass.” Hanzo was tickled at McCree’s naive assumption. How such masculinity could yield such childishness was comical. “Believe what you like, McCree. I do accept that your marksmanship is excellent, albeit excessively dramatic.” McCree shrugged with a hint of arrogance: “What can I say? This life’s too short to live without some style. You should try it sometime!” He playfully quipped. “Now that you’ve seen some greatness to _aim_ for, get your butt over here and let’s see what you can do.” “Oh joy, a pun _and_ a punishment.”

 

*****

 

Hanzo walked over to join his American counterpart, feeling uncharacteristically on edge. He had yet to triumph over his unassailable fear of failure, and here it was staring him straight in the face. The only thing keeping him there was his inner duty to always follow through. McCree stood behind him, supervising his pupil. “First things first- never point the barrel at anythin' until you’re ready, got it? It’s all or nothin’. Last thing you want is gettin' yourself or someone else in deep shit ‘cause you didn’t commit.” Hanzo looked down at the contents of his right hand: it was weighty both physically and morally, much like his bow. His tone was resolute. “I understand. I would expect nothing less from any honourable combatant.” “Next, you’ll want to position your feet shoulder width apart. The recoil will go through your upper body so it wouldn’t knock ya down otherwise, but this is safest for beginners. Don’t want cha gettin’ hurt on my watch.” Hanzo did as he was told, rooting himself in place. “You’ve already got it in your right hand, so no adjustments there. Your thumb can reach the other side of the handle, right? Unless you plan on goin’ trigger happy on me, which I doubt, make sure your index finger is on the guard. Wrap your left hand around your right for support.” As he made the alterations recommended to him, Hanzo felt sadly clumsy. It was rather disheartening, but he knew the trepidation would pass. Firsts never had to be repeated. “You all set, Hanzo? You’ve been tongue-tied this whole time.” He gave a small, silent nod in response. He by no means wanted to reveal his unease. “Ok, if you’re su--” “McCree, I appreciate your concern… But do _not_ disrupt my concentration. You should know better.” “R-right, my bad. One strike for me, I guess. Sorry ‘bout that- now we're getting to the main event.” McCree slowly paced, watching in anticipation. “Slowly raise your arms, keepin' your elbows straight. Don't lock ‘em though, or you're in for a world o’ hurt. Focus on your target and what's around it- ain't nothin' else to worry about. Guide your shot with victory in mind. Show that bastard who's boss.” As his arms rose, Hanzo was reminded of his youth- when his first arrow pierced the skies. It was laughable now; how unsteady his small body felt, the potent tension felt both through his muscles and bowstring, the daunting stature of the bow. The set up, the draw… release. On its flight to a nearby tree, that arrow carried with it a heavy load of expectation from his advisers and father… but also his personal validation; elation; motivation. This moment was no different.

 

He rolled his neck and shoulders in preparation and set his sights on the stationary robot a short length away. His finger cautiously found the trigger. He braced for the blowback, and finally fired… his target was still standing. He had completely missed, to his chagrin. “That’s a shame, Hanzo. But ‘member that was your first try. Nobody’s perfect.” “A less than satisfactory result… but I am not deterred.” “That’s the spirit! If I had to ding ya on anythin’ it would be your form. You look like I could blow ya over with one puff, you’re so rigid. Here, lemme help.” McCree strolled over to Hanzo and, while standing directly behind him, placed his hands on his shoulders. Hanzo was startled at the unexpected physical contact, but equally surprised that he wasn’t violently squirming or swatting the culprit away. Touch had always been his least favourite of the senses, to which he had a long standing aversion. His personal space was sacred and never to be defiled… until today. His agitation was calmed by the gentle manner in which McCree prodded his pressure points and addressed the constriction in his upper body, finely realigning his arms with a mellow hold. Hanzo stood paralyzed like a deer in headlights, mind blank from sensory overload. All that his brain could process were his own respirations and the intriguing medley of fragrances being delicately carried to his nose: a combination of earth, tobacco, and a hint of whiskey. It startlingly wasn’t unpleasant. A snap next to his ear dragged him back to reality: “....zo? Hanzo? HEY, HANZO! Where’d you go, Mars? You were freakin’ me out over here!” “....My apologies, McCree. I must have been lost in thought as to how to correct my errors.” He knew that was a brazen lie to satisfy both McCree and his conscience. He was in panic mode- what had just happened? He had lost all function and awareness, rendered useless… It simply wasn’t possible. It _had_ to be an adverse reaction to his change in schedule. Of course! His natural rhythm had been disrupted, after all. That was surely it… wasn’t it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A wild cliffhanger has appeared! I think XD I love listening to chill music as I write, I feel it makes me more productive and gets the inspiration flowing. So special thanks to Nell and especially Heize for giving me a boost. (Get it? Heize/Haze? :D I'll show myself out) I've got a lot more in store for these dorks in the future, don't worry. There's a whole page of dialogue and plot scribbles in one of my journals. Bye ~


	5. Rattled

In the 7 days that followed, Hanzo was even more miserable than usual. It took every fibre of his being to dismiss the humiliating crack in his mental stronghold that had happened the week prior. It mattered not that it was minor- it should never have happened. He still dutifully attended all of their morning shooting sessions, growing accustomed to seeing McCree waiting for him outside his door to greet him with a howdy and a hat tip. It didn’t stamp out his vexation- why was he so insistent on being so... _nice_ to him? Apart from formal address, Hanzo had essentially taken a vow of silence. He listened to McCree’s advice and encouragement, but the kind words fell on deaf ears. Why should any of his mundane actions be celebrated? His walls had been refortified, with a guard on watch to ensure no one trespassed. The vault had been locked, with the key nowhere in sight. McCree on the other hand was far from oblivious, but rather was confused as to why his partner was so irritated. Sure he’d still miss sometimes, but Hanzo’s gun marksmanship was improving at a steady rate. Hanzo had been able to advance to moving targets faster than he had ever seen. Hell, even _he_ was getting excited for the guy. McCree was jealous of his adaptability, and cheesed that his own progress on the amicable front had been stunted. What was his deal? McCree decided that maybe it was time for the tables to be turned, for both their sakes. He wasn’t jumping for joy at the prospect of taking up the bow, but he didn’t think that he could endure Hanzo’s biting scorn for much longer. Surely this would cheer him up, right? He brought his proposal to the archer at the end of one of their meetings: “Hey Hanzo? I’d say that’s enough gunslingin’ for now. You’ve got the basics down pat. At this rate, you’re gonna start showin’ me up! ...Ok I kid, but how ‘bout you start taking the reins tomorrow?” After firing one last shot, Hanzo let out a single syllable as the echoes from the discharge died off. He didn’t bother to turn towards the cowboy. “Fine.” McCree was taken aback, slightly hurt. “Golly, thought you’d be more inspired than that… Same time, then?” “Agreed.” As Hanzo trudged away, McCree was left to ponder how exactly he’d screwed up this time. Unfortunately, as much as he sifted through his memory, his search did not bear fruit. His only comfort was in knowing the sunrise would bring with it a new day, another chance.

 

*****

 

That night, as the soft patter of rain lulled the occupants of the base to their nightly hibernation, McCree could be found watching his favourite western, “ _The Roundup of the Brave_ ”, from the warm innards of his bed. Aside from getting wasted, it was his go-to tactic for sleepless nights. As the dashing lead held the dastardly villain at gunpoint on screen, their spectator wasn’t feeling his usual exhilaration. Instead, McCree was far too distracted by his personal objectives to be captivated by the triumph of the protagonist. He had a whirlwind of questions whipping through his mind: why did Genji say what he did last week? Why had Hanzo suddenly clammed up? Why was he already so invested in a man he barely knew? His confusion only fueled his insomnia, but Jesse McCree was no quitter. Perhaps he was so set in his ways because within Hanzo he saw pieces of his former self. He was once a young punk who thought himself invincible, laughing in the faces of those that wished to aid him. Over time he had learned the hard way that complete self-reliance, while admirable, was not the hallmark of a life well lived. He hoped that he could convince the antagonist of this story the same. He vowed to emulate the valiant heroes in the films he adored, but wasn’t sure if Hanzo would ever want to be freed of his chains. Eventually fatigue took over, sending him into dreamless repose.

 

*****

 

Meanwhile, the elder Shimada violently tossed and turned in his slumber. He was being held captive by his own lucid dream, a slave to the incorporeal projections of his imagination. In this convincing illusion, he was frantically running down an endless hallway devoid of light. He inherently knew he had been charged with finding something, but was clueless as to what. Every so often he would encounter a luminous door hoping that his senseless quest would come to an end, but all he discovered were empty rooms grievously barren. When he could no longer continue, he collapsed to the ground on all fours. How could he remain if he didn’t know what he was searching for? His purpose in this purgatory? The darkness took hold, suffocating him. Blackness invaded his senses, becoming all he could feel. He was losing himself to the void… until a wispy figure materialized in front of him. The apparition took a mortal shape, taking a knee. It chillingly extended a misty appendage to the hapless human in front of it. As the dusk continued its infestation, Hanzo knew he had no other choice but to trust the haunting silhouette before him. He could sense no malice within it, only benevolence. With his last ounce of vitality he inched his left hand forward, fighting the smothering weight of the gloom encircling him. His palm met the spectre, and in a flare of dazzling light the bleakness had vanished. His torment had ceased. Still clinging to his saviour, he realized it had morphed amongst the brilliance. He recognized the altruistic eyes that met his own and the muted perfume in the air as it coated the back of his mouth. Awestruck, his jaw dropped.

 

He awoke panting, drenched in cold sweat. He had been emancipated by Jesse McCree.

 

Distraught, Hanzo had to take more than a few moments to recuperate. He sat up, hunched over: fingers compressing his temples, damp locks cascading to frame his face. He knew he had to logically analyze what had transpired in his nightmare to stay sane. In his opinion, there was no such thing as “destiny” or “fate”- only humourous coincidences that could be interpreted as such. It was ludicrous to think that people believed in such otherworldly forces; he forged his own path. The subconscious mind was good at mirroring reality- it _was_ true that the two had spent much time together as of late. Therefore, it seemed rational that McCree had made an appearance in his dream. His conscience was sated by this explanation, allowing him to gradually return to his senses. Besides the unwanted cameo, he couldn’t deny that the immeasurable dread he had just experienced was traumatic to say the least. He hadn’t felt such terror since that fateful day 10 years ago, and was ashamed that he allowed such fear to manifest. He found such fragility repulsive. The clock at his bedside mocked him as it displayed 3:00. He heaved out of bed, knowing full well that rest would not call again this night. Ruminating would have to do, and there was much of it to be done.  

 

*****

 

The next morning, McCree had a spring in his step in spite of the gnawing pit in his stomach. He was a firm believer in “fake it till you make it”, and was fully committing to it this day. As he approached the dragon’s cave, he promised himself that he wouldn’t take the impending archery trainwreck to heart. He rapped on the door and awaited his colleague, hoping that he was in better spirits. He was met by a man bearing dark circles, glazed eyes and an uncanny resemblance to the bowman he so admired. Hanzo looked atrocious, and there was no hiding it. McCree was worried- his comrade looked as sick as a dog. He doubted Hanzo had slept much, or had even eaten since they last met. He smiled hoping to spread some cheer, pushing past his concern. He employed his signature greeting and hat tip, but couldn’t ignore the sad state of his partner.  “Howdy, Hanzo. Listen… you sure you’re up for this today? Don’t want to be a bother or nothin’.” The archer struggled to make eye contact with his interrogator for a myriad of reasons. “I can assure you that I am _quite_ well, McCree.” Hanzo said firmly, feigning stamina. Secretly waging war against his body, the dragon of the south wind swore he would not admit defeat to the ridiculous delusion from the night before.

 

*****

  
“Athena, please send over the items that I had Winston prepare.” _“Certainly, Agent Shimada.”_ the AI replied. Hanzo and McCree found themselves in the control room of the practice range, where all manner of combat settings could be adjusted. It also served as the location for one of the supply teleportation terminals dispersed around the base. These terminals allowed small articles to be received from the workshop and maintenance areas in a matter of seconds. McCree stared at the portal in amazement as it produced a dazzling blue light. The product of this was a modest recurve bow and a set of rustic arrows. “Damn, that’s cool…” McCree marveled. Hanzo cleared his throat to shift McCree’s attention: “I had Winston fashion this set based on your personal measurements, gathered from your anatomy and recorded strength. It is of paramount importance that your bow is built personalized to your specific build, or else your form and execution will undoubtedly suffer.” “Jeez, didn’t know so much went into one o’ these things. Seems simple enough.” McCree remarked as he picked up his new toy, plucking the string. “Ha, far from it! There are many factors that must be considered before you even fire your first arrow. Bow size, arrow size, draw length and draw weight are all crucial components to success in this art." “The first two I get, but what about them last ones? Draw? Now _that’s_ a word I like!” “It has nothing to do with your theatrical antics, gunslinger.” “Darn, got me all excited for nothin’. You’re gonna tell me anyway, aren’t cha? I can tell you’re getting worked up.” McCree took a seat, breathing a sigh of relief- he actually delighted in hearing Hanzo’s enthusiasm, however subdued it was. It was the first time he had heard the modulated voice for more than a few words; he relished it. He felt that he would never tire of it, even if Hanzo’s sophisticated sentences left him scratching his head.

 

“....thus I am confident that you will not encounter over-bowing. I am sure that we will be able to develop your muscle memory to build on your shot cycle.” The orator paused. “ _McCree_ , have you been listening to me? I struggle to believe that you have been attentive for this long...” Hanzo’s pleasant timbre had caused McCree to accidentally zone out- he had to think fast. “Course I was, whaddya take me for? So, what’s the difference between my kit and your zany contraption?” As he motioned toward the Storm Bow, he gave himself kudos for the nice save. Hanzo leered at him with skepticism, but continued his ardor. “The primary distinction is that the Storm Bow has slightly smaller dimensions than your model, due to our negligible disparity in height. However, that is all that is comparable- I also have attachments to my liking. Your draw weight has been set to 40 pounds, which is above average for a beginner. This number is the force required to fully draw the bow when loaded and subsequently fire your arrow." “Alright, sounds good! _These_ guns ain’t just for show.” He flexed. “ What’s yours then? 45? 50? You can’t be pushin’ 60.” “I have grown accustomed to an 80 pound draw weight for my purposes. An archer’s fortitude lies in the shoulders, chest, back and arms.” McCree whistled in wonder. “How ‘bout that... Colour me impressed, Hanzo. I knew you were built, but remind me not to arm wrestle you anytime soon.” “A wise decision. Now come, let us begin.” 


	6. Range

As the archery targets spawned a distance away from the pair, McCree gulped. He would have gladly had a root canal done instead of attempting to use the primitive looking object in his hands, but saw no way of escape. Hanzo was obviously _not_ the naive type. “Hanzo, any chance we could just, y'know... skip this and just _say_ I did it?” “Absolutely not, McCree. I did my due diligence in becoming acquainted with the revolver... now it is your turn to tread in unfamiliar waters.” McCree couldn't deny that Hanzo had been a fairly good sport over the last couple of weeks, he couldn’t fall behind now. “Yeah, I know… this buckaroo stands by his word. You best not get your hopes up too high, y'hear?” “Who ever said I would?” Hanzo stated smugly with a grin. “Hoooo boy, so you _can_ use sarcasm! That’s a hoot. Does my heart good to know you’re not as dull as dishwater. Life’s chock full o’ surprises, ain’t it? Next thing you know I'll be gettin’ bullseyes with this thing.” “Pause your prattle and concentrate, cowboy. Do not think me so gullible as to not notice your futile avoidance tactics.” “Welp, I know at least one person who reads the dictionary for fun... You’ve got quite a way with words there, Mr. Fancypants! You coulda just told me to shut up.” McCree snuck in a wink and a tongue slip like the overgrown kid he was, tickled by their banter. Hanzo responded, deadpan: “37 years old and still a juvenile… how quaint.” After a few deep breaths for composure, he commenced his lesson for his nervous novice. McCree was in _his_ domain now.

  
*****

 

“Much like the gun, it is imperative to be cognizant of your form when shooting. Should it be lacking, defeat is inevitable. As such, it is not to be taken lightly. Keep your alignment in a “T” shape. This white line on the ground is the edge of the 70 metres between you and the target yonder. Stand with one foot on each side, both perpendicular to the mark.” McCree scratched his head, confused. “Perpa-what? Pumpernickel?” Hanzo sighed. He had never had much patience for teaching, but he had to honour that McCree hadn’t played hooky. “Turn to your side and line up the toes of your boots with the middle of the circle. Shoulder width apart, just as you taught me.” “Yessir, that I can do. What’s next?” “Always ensure that your left hand maintains a relaxed grip on the bow’s handle. Normally, exerting force risks injury to your intrinsic muscles… but in your case, it is to avoid property damage.” McCree forced out a nervous laugh: “Haha… got it.” “Take one of your arrows and put it in the rest. This mechanism helps to keep the arrow in place as you aim. As you load, do not lift the bow.” McCree gawkily retrieved an arrow from his pile on the ground and slid it into the prongs of the device near the middle of the bow. The arrow itself seemed so thin, so fragile; it was unremarkable at best. He noticed that its point looked like an old friend- “Hey Hanzo, the tip o’ these things look like bullets! How come I’m not usin’ the same as you?” “Yes, those are bullet tip arrowheads. They are employed specifically for target practice. I utilize broadhead arrows in my kit. Their purpose is much more... _malicious_ than your situation warrants.” “Awww, so no domes will be poppin’ off with these? Damn shame.” “Oh, hush. Have you forgotten that these trials are for education? Moving on. Do you see the notch behind the fletching?” No response. McCree stared blankly at the arrow. “...The coloured plastic wings, McCree.” “Why didn’t ya say that, then?” “I admit that I did not extensively review the terminology with you; I apologize. As I was saying, that is the nock. The bowstring will sit inside it to further anchor the arrow in place. McCree guided the nock to the string, fingers feeling as fat as sausages. He wasn’t 100% sure he had done it right, but he wanted to speed things along. “Hanzo, you’re spreadin’ me thin here…. Do I get to do somethin’ soon?” “Yes, you are nearly there. Now we prepare for the draw. Position your fingers on the string with your index finger above the arrow and two fingers below.The string should sit in the last crease of your fingers, nearest to your fingertips.” McCree was astonished by all the minute details that culminated in the arrow’s final flight. He was so used to instant gratification with Peacekeeper in hand; he pulled the trigger, the baddies died. This was a lot more effort than he had bargained for.

 

“When you feel ready, raise the bow. Pull back the string using your dorsal muscles, _not_ your bicep. Make it so that your right index finger is under your chin, and the string brushes your nose and lips.” As McCree assumed the posture that was second nature to Hanzo, the archer found himself peculiarly mesmerized- seeing things he had overlooked previously. He was absorbed in McCree’s features: the caramel hue of his skin, the tousled mane underneath his hat, his strong jaw adorned with umber ruff. Hanzo’s keen eyes scanned the sinewy arm tasked with the draw, the leather glove at its end weathered by the elements. The bowstring caressed ample lips and a chiseled nose. Jesse McCree was a unique specimen indeed; this he could not deny. “Aim is innate, as I am sure you know. Do not give doubt any chances to interfere. Release when you are prepared.” McCree exhaled, trying to ease some of the stress coursing through him. He squinted, fixating on the round object in the distance. He allowed his fingers to relax- but was met with a strident “SNAP!” and a flare of pain on his forehead. “Owwwww… Son of a BITCH!” Of course he had broken the bowstring, which had punished him in turn. “You oaf, are you injured?” Rubbing his now bare palm against his cranium, McCree tentatively replied: “My ego’s taken a bruisin’, but I’m no worse for wear. Shit, you never mentioned this thing havin’ a mind o’ its own.” “What you had the.. *ahem* misfortune of experiencing just now is referred to as a “dry fire”. Without the mass of the arrow to absorb the elastic energy released, it instead dissipates through the vibration of the bowstring and the bow limbs. It looks like your nocking was unsuccessful.” McCree sighed in defeat, hanging his head. “Lucky me… real sorry ‘bout that, Hanzo. ‘Course I’m already breakin’ stuff.” “Pay it no mind- I am content in knowing that you are unharmed. As for the bow, an assassin is never without extra supplies.” He took the frame from his sullen student and restrung it in a flash, restoring its power. Hanzo noticed the dismay in McCree’s expression. As much as it annoyed him at times, he was inured with his happy-go-lucky disposition. He was unsettled by McCree’s precipitous funk. He finished his repairs, placing the bow back in McCree’s hands. “McCree… A certain cowboy once told me not to be crushed by a first time failure, if that is any consolation.” McCree felt a pleasant warmth in his heart as his ears pricked up. Bailing out was certainly off the table now- Hanzo’s words had emboldened him. “You’re right, Hanzo… guess I got down in the dumps for a spell. Your brother used to say somethin’ cool in times like these, durin’ our boot camps… what was it now?” McCree looked skyward whilst tapping on the sheet metal underfoot, as if the pale blue expanse held the answer. All of a sudden the light bulb came on, which was signalled with a snap. “I got it! He used to give me a thumbs up… look me straight in the face... and say “ OK, moe itchy doe!”” As he projected the image of years gone by in his mind, his ears were graced with a harmonious sound. Hanzo was... laughing. In his disbelief, It took McCree a moment to register what exactly he was hearing. He didn’t care that it was at his expense; he could sense it was not out of ridicule or arrogance. Rather, it was genuine delight. The full, deep chortles of the typically impassive dragon made his pulse rise in response. It was nothing short of exhilarating. All he could do was stare, wanting to preserve the beautiful sight.

 

*****

  
Ultimately Hanzo’s laughter came to an end, as all good things must. Thrown off by this unforeseen reaction to McCree’s garbled Japanese, the return of Hanzo's poise was significantly delayed. When he had cooled off, he spoke collectedly. “Ah... my sincerest apologies, McCree. I hope I did not offend. Your pronunciation was abhorrent, but I commend your commitment. Hearing it was rather… charming.” The faintest trace of a smile snuck onto his face, though he’d be the last to admit it. It was bittersweet; it had felt like eons since he had heard his mother tongue at all, let alone from an overly enthusiastic New Mexican cowboy. This crucial piece of his identity had been buried six feet under for the longest time. McCree felt his cheeks flush: “Sh-shucks, glad I could be o’ service. Say, what do those words mean anyway? That lil’ weasel never told me.” Hanzo responded wistfully as a pang of melancholy wracked his chest. _His_ name had not been uttered, but that was trivial to Hanzo’s soul. “ _Mou ichido…_ It means “one more time”. A common phrase for inspiration. Do you wish to see those words through?” McCree shrugged and gathered his tools. “What more do I have to lose? Giddy up!” He walked over to the line and readied himself for his second attempt. He tediously repeated the steps of the shot cycle, only to stop at the aiming stage; he had been struck by a bolt of genius. Hanzo noticed his sudden departure from the here and now- he squinted in judgment. “McCree… what are you scheming in that sun-baked head of yours?” The gunman answered a tad removed, engrossed in his imaginings. “Hanzo… ya think I could… **use Deadeye on my next shot?** ” Hanzo placed his hands on his hips, shaking his head. “... I do not wish to comment on your _inventive_ ideas. I will not be held responsible for the outcome.” He slowly backed away as McCree plastered a deranged grin on his face. This would be spectacular, all right. McCree had triple checked to make sure his arrow was nocked in place this go-around. He was feeling good, especially with his ace in the hole. The bases were loaded, the cards were stacked in his favour. In a bizarre spectacle out of an alternate universe, Hanzo noticed the same sinister red radiating from McCree’s right eye as he assertively pulled back the bowstring. McCree spoke his hex: **_“It’s high noon…”._** He loosed his arrow, confidence brimming. It sailed magnificently through the air, fleetly flying as it followed its trajectory… until it fantastically fizzled: falling to the floor, fletching and all, 15 metres away. McCree was left gobsmacked, aghast at how his prized technique could have failed him so. McCree sulked as Hanzo looked on, not surprised in the slightest. In his opinion, the outcome was never in doubt. He called over to the pouting personage. “McCree... I take it that was not the plan?” Hanzo’s brows were pulled to the middle in confusion. Was he hearing… muffled weeping? Hanzo posed a cynical question in the direction of the phony sobs. “McCree, are you crying?” “... Nooooo. *sniffle*” Slightly miffed, Hanzo hailed to him. “Oh come now, do not be so dramatic! This art is not for those lacking persistence. Your prowess will flourish in due time.” McCree melodramatically placed the back of his left palm on his forehead while the other clutched his serape, mimicking a fainting spell. “It’s over for me, Hanzo…  **HOW WILL I GO ON?”** he wailed. Unmoved by this display, Hanzo stared at the manchild nonchalantly. How Jesse McCree had ever lasted this long, he would never know. Fortunately for him, this baby-sitting wasn’t half bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Hope this chapter at least gave you a chuckle. I'm really excited for the next few chapters, things are going to get interesting. As always, thanks for stopping by :3


	7. Rupture

Over the next month, the perfectionist archer continued to vigorously train the tenacious gunslinger in his discipline. His improvement was slow, but he was developing regardless. McCree hadn’t needed Genji’s “services” for quite some time- he found himself waking at the same time each morning without much effort. It was strange to him that before their project got underway, he never would have wandered to the secluded hallway to knock on Hanzo’s door. No one on the base had ever dared. It would have been forgotten in its lack of use, left to fade away from existence. The occupant behind it probably would not have minded this hypothetical fate. Now McCree found himself looking forward to this simple action, as if it had always been a normal part of his day. Yes the door’s owner was uppity, borderline rude and his criticisms flip-flopped between constructive and not, but there were qualities that kept him coming back. It so happened to be a convenient bonus that he was easy on the eyes. He had yet to access the abyssal layers of the enigma that was Hanzo Shimada, but as the weeks went by McCree could sense that he had whittled a few down. McCree admired Hanzo’s responsibility, level-headedness, and knowledge. He thought himself a comic, but Hanzo revealed an acerbic wit of his own. They often exchanged taunts- sass abound, zingers aplenty. Occasionally during practice McCree would spontaneously spout a butchered Japanese word or two that he’d learned from Genji out of the blue, just to see if Hanzo was paying attention. A pointless test of course, but the true purpose was forcing laughter’s escape from his sealed lips. McCree liked the fact that they came from hugely different worlds, ever interested in Hanzo’s vocabulary and mannerisms. He was excited by his daily chances of further uncovering the character that was hiding within his cohort. Deep down, he secretly hoped that Hanzo felt the same.

 

*****

 

“That will be all for today, McCree. Judging by your shot’s distance, it seems that you have been consistently reaching the 40 metre mark this week. A laudable feat, all things considered.” “Awww, you praisin’ me right now? You’re makin’ me blush!” “Do not try me, McCree. Not today.” The sour look on Hanzo’s face signalled to McCree that something was amiss. “What’s up, Shimada? You look as if a storm’s ‘bout to brew even though it’s clear as crystal out 'ere.” Hanzo’s agitated expression did not change, his tone unwavering. “I fear that may be the case…” “Say what now?” “My spirit dragons grant me a heightened perception. They can alert me of possible disturbances to come.” McCree was floored by the concept. “You mean your kooky lizards can tell you stuff?!” Hanzo tightened his grasps on his folded arms, pretending that he didn’t hear his ancient beasts referred to as common reptiles. “… In layman’s terms, yes.” “Ain’t that somethin’! I reckon that comes in handy.” “I prefer that they remain inert… they do not often afford favourable revelations.” “So should we be headin’ for the hills?” “I cannot say for certain. However, this instance began yesterday and is quite forceful. All I ask is that you are wary; be prepared for anything.” McCree wasn’t sure what to make of Hanzo’s draconic directive, but didn’t want to cause additional stress by blowing it off. “I’ll keep my eyes peeled then.” The two packed their things, planning to part ways as per usual. But something was holding them both back from separating this fine afternoon, the process grinding to a halt as they lingered. A few moments later, the source of their suspicion surfaced; the breach alarm sounding with ear-splitting shrill. The men looked at each other, perplexed. Surely this had to be a drill; there was no other plausible explanation. “Pfft, it’s just a test right? I’m sure Winston will come over the PA aaaany minute now.” Hanzo could not shake the feeling of dread that had slithered its way into his mind. He could see the modest dismay in McCree, trying to play it cool, as they locked eyes. “... He’s takin' his sweet time, ain’t he? Damn ape… remind me to hijack his PB stash later.” Hanzo grew tired of waiting; he knew full well that this was no exercise. He spoke with restrained urgency. “McCree, we should go to central control posthaste. Regardless of the reason for the alarm having been triggered, that would be the best course of action.” “You’re right… somebody’s got some ‘splainin’ to do. Let’s hope this was accidental.” They nodded in agreement before jogging over to their objective, Peacekeeper and Storm Bow in tow.

 

After a few hectic minutes, the duo found themselves in front of the carved out rock face that housed Winston’s office along with most of the main base computers. The gorilla could often be found here tinkering with one of his creations in between scarfing down jars of peanut butter or analyzing data from various satellites he had launched. Ever since he had initiated the recall he was constantly at work, a perpetual fixture within said walls. While at the entrance, McCree and Hanzo were not comforted by the fact that there were no other agents in sight. Puzzling, given that this was the designated meeting spot in case of emergency. As the alarm blared overhead, there was no stirring to be had. Where was everyone? They knew that the entire crew was not permitted to go on assignment simultaneously. “Stay close, Hanzo. I got a bad feelin’ ‘bout all this.” “As do I. Yet, we must investigate.” Side by side, they guardedly entered the unusually still quarters. At first glance, nothing appeared to be out of place. All the lights were still on, making all of the room’s contents visible. No footprints, no debris, no blood. Clearly there was no sign of forced entry or a scuffle, but that fact only added to the suspense. They spoke in hushed dialogue: “I’ll take the office- you look around down here for anythin’ fishy. Holler if you need me.” “Understood... be careful.” McCree made his way up the short ramp to the upper section of Winston’s turf with revolver drawn, each step meticulous and deliberate. He inched his way over to the large desk that hosted the intelligent simian… but upon entering the cubbyhole, there was no one to be found. The only things McCree saw were monitors lit in flamboyant purple, stylized skull prominent against foreboding lines of code. McCree had never been tech-savvy, but he would be a fool not to recognize that someone had hacked their systems. Whatever circumstance befell Winston, his last deed was making sure this fact was known- they were not alone in Gibraltar.

 

*****

 

Hanzo could see McCree above him, standing baffled in the doorway. It was unlike him to be so worried. He called up to him calmly as to not startle him further. “McCree… have you found something?” “One thing’s for sure… this ain’t no joke. Winston’s MIA and his computers have been compromised by the looks of it.” “If the perimeter is in jeopardy, we should leave here to lessen the chance of being cornered. We need to locate the other agents.” “Not sure if I can keep the faith, but what other choice do we have? Let’s move.” The two reconvened and promptly exited the space, not entirely sanguine in their plan. They scanned their surroundings with utmost scrutiny as they made their way around the first corner of the payload’s predetermined path. They arrived at the underpass, ever on edge. Hanzo, sensing turbulence nearby, stopped dead in his tracks while McCree continued on, oblivious. A few steps later he turned around to see Hanzo fixed in place, white knuckled. “What’s the holdup?” Hanzo's reply was weighty: “Keep watch from your position. Something is amiss.” He turned his head to the right, indicating his intended search zone. It was a drab, unassuming area laden with miscellaneous supplies, but its normalcy did not distract him from the sinister aura emanating from it. Loaded bow in hand, the assassin moved stealthily, without a sound, toward the source of his distress, ready to fire at will. His hunt was for naught, save a scurrying mouse and some shadows occupying the edges of the territory. Hanzo was distraught, but consoled by the fact that his guardians had not led him astray. This wasn’t the culprit. “Didya see anything?” “No… we press on.” As Hanzo went to catch up with McCree, he turned his back to discount the dancing shadows he had seen moments ago. This would prove to be a dire mistake. The shadows converged into a malevolent mist, stalking the archer briefly before it assumed its true form. In a blink of an eye Hanzo was forcefully pinned against a brisk stone wall, instantly overpowered by the owner of the icy claws that held him in a frontal chokehold. The Storm Bow plunged with a crash. McCree turned in horror to see a ghoulish figure draped in black, outfitted with monstrous gauntlets and perverse shotguns, strangling his partner. The very sight of him and his doing sent violent tremors to his core. He roared in fury: “ **HANZO!** **LET GO OF HIM, YOU SON OF A BITCH!”**  He whipped out his Peacekeeper, primed for a headshot. This was not to be; it was shot straight out of his hand by a sniper rifle before he could pull the trigger. It was sent flying, landing far from his reach with a despondent thud. When he pivoted to make a break for it, he was met with an uzi point-blank. A woman clad in purple was its operator, who mocked him with dominant glee. “You didn’t see that coming, did you? Where’s your little toy, McCree? Move, and you’ll be saying _sayonara_ to your sidekick.” McCrew grew numb as he realized that he was wholly powerless.

 

*****

 

The captive knew that he would not escape this custody of his own volition; the villain’s might was grossly inhuman. As he struggled to fill his lungs, Hanzo realized that his captor could have handily suffocated him in a matter of moments… but was deliberately prolonging his torture. He was able to maintain consciousness, for the time being. He peered out of the corner of his eye to see McCree with his hands in the air, apprehended by an accomplice. He strained to hear the altercation. “So you’ve shuffled the deck to your likin’, you happy now? _Who are you and whaddya want with us?_ ” The malefactor loosened his grip, as if he wanted Hanzo to be present for this conversation. He turned his intimidating mask to the cowboy and broke his silence with a gravelly, bone chilling utterance. _“_ Finders, keepers shall we say. Overwatch had some things we wanted… we saw no issue in taking them. Speaking of which… aren’t you tired of playing the thankless hero, McCree? Vengeance is delicious, and murder seems to suit you just fine… Talon could use a man of your skillset.” McCree was incensed at this mention of his gory past. “Say that again, I dare ya... **YOU DON’T KNOW A DAMN THING ABOUT ME.”** “That’s what you think... I know more about you than you know about yourself. If you won’t accept my generous offer, then stay out of my way. Watch your back… death comes for all, and it walks among you." “Mark my words freak, I would **_never_** side with you people. I haven’t forgotten Oslo, Venice, Houston…Talon makes me **_sick._** ” “Are you so senseless to think that we’d give up so easily? Don’t. Make. Me. Laugh. Someday you’ll see that Overwatch is just a twisted fairytale, a disgusting farce of an organization. There’s no love… only lies." “I ain’t listenin’ to your crap. Do whatcha want with me… but leave Hanzo outta this.” The aforementioned had a question of his own to pose to the miscreant, with ragged breaths. “Why… did you not… kill… me?” The brute was apathetic, unimpressed by this query. “Hanzo Shimada… I may be the Reaper, but I don’t grant death to those that pathetically seek it out… got it? But since you look _**so**_ sad, I’ll leave you with a parting gift.” Reaper dug his hooked hands into Hanzo’s shoulders and swiftly delivered an armor capped knee to his chest. The blunt trauma evacuated what little oxygen Hanzo had stored within as he doubled over in excruciating pain. He grimaced as he crumbled to the ground, ribs throbbing in anguish. McCree looked on forlorn, feeling the blow as his own. **“HANZO!** Dammit, hang in there!” Reaper discarded his plaything as he looked to his conspirator. _“Sombra… status?”_ Sombra stared at her nails, jaded: “The decryption and retrieval is complete. We’re done here.” _“_ With that, we’ll be taking our leave.” As the doublet ambled away with their mission complete, Reaper looked over his shoulder to take a final look at the ingrate he once treasured as a son. He cackled at the pitiful specimen. _“_ Until next time, _mijo_ …”

 

*****

 

McCree couldn’t hear the maniacal racket let out from the reaper, nor could he gallantly dash over to tend to Hanzo’s wounds. He had dropped to his knees, devastated. His heart shattered into smithereens. Warm tears flowed incessantly. Each inhalation seared his lungs. There was only one human soul that had ever called him that… and he was dead. Departed. Deceased.

 

*****

 

Hanzo was waging a losing battle against unconsciousness, his vision further blurring with each passing second. He blacked out, blissfully ignorant to the aftermath. The last thing he detected before he was mentally bested by his damage was the image of McCree, torn to shreds by gut-wrenching sobs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 04/13/18 I'm so glad I was able to finish this chapter. For the longest time I couldn't stop thinking about future chapters, but now I've cleared this chronological hurdle. Retribution dumped some more Blackwatch lore on us, I am LIVING for it. PRAISE BLIZZARD!


	8. Bind

As he surfaced from the depths of his inadvertent slumber, Hanzo’s senses were assailed as they readjusted to the world he had temporarily left behind. His pupils constricted as they peeked out from the protection of his eyelids, struggling to withstand the soft daylight illuminating the familiar sight of his room. He had a faint recollection of the day prior, but was clueless as to when or how he arrived there. As he lay in bed, clad in linen robe, a dull throb pervaded through his body as his pain receptors roused. He stirred to sit upright, but was immediately halted by a sharp, stabbing sensation in his right chest. He let out a resounding yelp as he was met with a barrage of hurt, each breath worsening his discomfort. As he shut his eyes to cope, he ears picked up the heavy, hectic footsteps of someone making a mad dash to his side. In his disorientation, he cared not that his residential privacy had been compromised. A winded McCree bolted in, panting as if he’d just broken down the door dividing them. “Hanzo! You… ok?! … Hold up, now. You… stay put. Don’t move... another inch, ya hear? Today… complete bed rest.” Hanzo’s heart skipped a beat both out of surprise and pleased recognition of the twang he had grown so used to hearing. At least his intruder was harmless, for the most part. “Je-” he stopped himself. In their reunion, his subconscious apparently wanted to cast aside formalities. He wouldn’t let it best him, wincing as he cleared his throat- neck sore, voice strained. Hanzo held his side as he spoke, tender to the touch: “McCree… What are you doing here? What time is it? What has transpired?” “Can a man get some air in ‘im before we start playin’ twenty questions? Back in a jiff, lemme get you some things now that you’re up.” McCree scampered away, returning a few minutes later with pillows, a tray of ice cubes and a hand towel. He warily placed the cushions behind Hanzo’s back, propping him erect. Then he fashioned a makeshift bundle, funneling the frigid blocks into the fabric. Gingerly guiding the plain ice pack between the robe and the sizable reddish bruise that had appeared on Hanzo’s flesh, he felt great remorse. If only he had been smarter... braver… neither of them would be suffering now. It troubled him to see the majestic dragon struck down; it was a staggering blow to his own heart. McCree motioned to a humble chair in the corner of the bedroom once he’d seen to his patient. “Wish I could say it’s high noon, but it’s 3 o’clock. You’ve been out cold this whole time. Perfect hour for story time, though. May I?” he asked soberly. Hanzo, smarting but beholden to see his counterpart unscathed, gave a nod.

 

*****

 

McCree pulled out a folded piece of paper from his back pocket and looked it over before sitting down, as if reviewing a speech. He read aloud to his audience, the subject matter unpleasant. “First off, Doc says your 7th and 8th ribs are broken on your right side due to “non-penetrating chest trauma”. You have two “contusions”... one minor on the neck and one major on the “right upper quadrant”, but have _not_ sustained damage to any internal organs… Thank god.” he whispered. “It’s gonna take six weeks for a full recovery, with “no strenuous activity permitted” in the meantime. Do need to stay active, though. She encourages “deep breathing and light cardiovascular exercise” so your lungs don’t get messed up. Keep applyin' ice every so often... annnnd take the pain meds she’s prescribed, once a day, with food. That’s all she wrote, literally.” He crumpled the sheet into a ball. Elbows on his knees, he held it in his metal fist as his natural one sat atop. He looked the battered archer, radiance diminished, straight in the eyes with sincerity. “I never should’ve let this happen to you, Hanzo… it was _my_ fight, not yours. All I care about right now is that you’re safe ‘n sound.” His gaze was pulled to the floor. “...I’d never live it down otherwise.” “McCree, it would have been purely ludicrous to face that ruffian unarmed. That arrant idiocy would have cost both our lives. Eventually all anatomy can heal; such is biology. Fear not, these mortal wounds are menial compared to the ones I have inflicted upon my own soul. I have often thought it more agonizing to continue living… than to accept death’s embrace.” Hanzo took the diagnosis and prognosis in stride, but McCree took personal offense to Hanzo’s last remark. “... _Don’t talk like that._ ” he said with slight venom, quieting Hanzo. “...As you wish. Please bring me up to speed.” McCree began, miffed. “Turns out our buddies at Talon heard through the grapevine that our merry band was hangin’ out here. They wanted personnel files, dirt on former agents. They hacked our surveillance cameras and alarms, got in, put the whole place on lockdown. Somehow they knew _we_ were the only ones outside besides Winston. Our meetin' wasn’t coincidence.” “And what of Winston?” “Doc and Rein found him out cold near the launchpad. As you know, we never made it that far. Punks must have drugged ‘im and dragged ‘im over there… hired muscle, no doubt. Luckily he’ll be fine.” “How did we come to this juncture?” “Once the doors reopened, the crew spread out to do damage control. Don’t remember much… ‘cept Genji picked you up.” Hanzo’s stomach turned at the thought of his brother carrying him to safety. He was now indebted to him, without consent. He shouldn’t have bothered. Why had anyone? “Next thing you know I’m in the infirmary volunteerin’ to keep an eye on ya. Figured you didn’t want Mr. Green stoppin’ by.” Hanzo could not shake the image of an inconsolable McCree from his mind’s eye, but dared not ask about the tragic moment of raw despair. Instead of allowing himself to feel worthy and deserving of McCree’s compassionate sentiments, he masterfully neutralized his thoughts and speech. “A wise foresight, cowboy. However, I have burdened you enough. Do not concern yourself with my care. I shall endure alone.” “That’s _nurse_ McCree to you! Argue all you want, I ain’t takin’ orders today. We’re gonna getcha through this, so help me. Besides, I already brought over some o’ my things… and may or may not have bought groceries. Got some eggs on sale.” “You are unbelievable…” Hanzo scoffed. Whether it was lethargy or something greater, he couldn’t bring himself to banish the blockhead from his presence. He caved in to McCree’s outrageous intentions and steeled himself for the most _interesting_ six weeks of his life. “I do hope you can make tea, at least.”

 

*****

 

The next morning, Hanzo awoke to his nose crowded with unusual scents. He now knew that McCree had been authorized to enter his quarters as he wished due to his “special assignment”, but he swore he must’ve been hallucinating. Was the man prone to unwieldy mishap actually… cooking? He bit his lip to confirm he was in fact awake and smelling the distinct aroma of bacon and eggs wafting from the kitchen nearby. He forced his aching body out of bed and made himself presentable before groggily wandering over to the scene that awaited him. He had always produced little noise as he roamed, quintessential for a ninja. Keeping strict watch over a frying pan on the stove, McCree didn't immediately notice his arrival. Standing a short distance away, Hanzo took advantage of this to take in the view. McCree was hatless in well-worn blue jeans and a black crew neck t-shirt that hugged his figure in all the right places. His serape had been veiling his back and shoulders, which had become all the more defined since taking up the bow. There were thin red straps tied in bows around his neck and waist, suspending an apron. The cook was humming a cheery tune to himself as he tended to his edible creations. Hanzo felt his temperature rise, awestruck; it was both unnerving and intoxicating to see McCree so domestic. He was bewitched by it all as he pulled up a chair to sit at the paltry table that was normally reserved for one. McCree finally noticed the shuffling behind him. He turned to face Hanzo with a warm smile and rich tone. “Mornin’, sunshine! Was just about to fetch ya, just about ready to dish up. Hope you're hungry!” Hanzo found himself tongue-tied; he had passed all too many mornings brooding solo. “Yes… I suppose it is morning. I, um… must say this is different from my convention.” McCree turned off the stove and gathered plates and utensils as he spoke to the honoured tenant. “Thought I might keep you on your toes a bit. Nothin’ beats a good breakfast with good company. I ain't much of  a cook, but I can whip up some mean mornin’ grub. I like makin’ people feel good, even if I can only fill their stomachs.” “You never struck me as one who knew his way around a kitchen. I must admit my surprise to see you here.” McCree transferred his final product to two white porcelain plates and walked over to continue his hosting gig. Hanzo sneered as he read the previously hidden slogan adorning McCree’s accessory. “Really, McCree? _“Kiss the cook?”_   The thrift store called… they want their apron back.” “Hey now, don't be mean… it's whimsical, dammit. _Please_ tell me the people of Japan have a word for that.” he teased. Hanzo felt his mood lift as they interacted, despite his mild pain. “Of course. In fact, we have many words with no true English equivalent.” “All right Mr. Lexicon, save it. Eat up before my hard work gets cold.” Hanzo examined the plate laid before him. Steam arose from creamy scrambled eggs, crisp strips of bacon, and plump pork sausages that glistened with goodness. To the right of his plate was another occupied by rye toast with thick strawberry jam, and a small cup of his beloved _Gyokuro_ green tea, brewed to perfection. He couldn't believe that McCree had gone through all this effort… for someone like him.

 

*****

 

McCree addressed the man sitting across from him, who was staring intensely at his plate.  “Uhhh… I hope this is fine for ya. I would've made your favourite if I knew it. At least I had a “contact” to help with the tea, whew! I know you're a creature o’ habit.” “I am at a loss for words, McCree… thank you.” Those two words felt exotic to Hanzo's already bilingual tongue. As a lone wolf, he rarely felt the need to express gratitude. He still hadn't entirely grasped the concept after years of solitude by choice. McCree’s heart was aflutter at this praise: “Aww shucks, it was nothin’. Anytime.” Hanzo closed his eyes and put his hands together before digging in. _“_ _Itadakimasu._ _”_ he murmured. McCree piped up. “Ooh, whazzat min?” he asked, mouth full. “We in Japan express appreciation for our food and those involved in its preparation before and after a meal.” “Huh, very polite. Didn’t know. Come to think of it… I don't remember ever seein’ Genji eat. Anyway, what do the Japanese eat for breakfast? Can't say I know much on the whole about the place, to be honest.” Hanzo suddenly felt a wave of poignancy come over him as he consumed his American fare. He harkened back to his childhood, to dawns spent at Shimada Castle with his brother and father in their lofty dining quarters. Many an hour was spent kneeling around a grand wooden table together, low to the tatami covered floor. In their youth, Sojiro Shimada was an astringent but affectionate parent who saw to it that his sons wanted for nothing. At their morning gatherings, Genji would often play with his food, tell jokes and make faces that always won over his familial critics. Hanzo would gander at his idol, a model patriarch. Sojiro would tell his progeny marvelous stories of their forebears as they freely ate from ornate ceramic bowls of… “White rice, miso soup, pickled vegetables, grilled fish, and other side dishes. That is what you would encounter in general.” “You guys really ate all that? Sounds like a right buffet.” “It _is_ satisfying, but not meant to be filling.” McCree posed an odd question after observing Hanzo zone out: “So… where were you just now? ‘Cause it wasn’t here with me.” “I… it is of no importance. Said pictures are now irrelevant.” McCree took a sip of his coffee, skeptical. “Right... ain’t my first rodeo, Hanzo.” “Actually, McCree… I could ask you the same.” “What are ya gettin’ at?” “Before I lost consciousness… I saw you grieve.” McCree cast his gaze into the dark brown pool that was his beverage, in doldrums. “Oh… you saw that, huh? You must think I’m a hypocrite for not mentionin’ it.” “Hardly. I do not go out of my way to pry into others personal matters. I apologize.” “Y’know, I didn’t think we’d ever have much to talk about… looks like we’ve got more in common after all. We’ve both got people we loved comin’ back from the dead. Lucky us.” “McCree… we do not have to discuss this any further.” “Nah, you have a right to know… just gimme some time.” McCree paused, wondering if he should continue on his train of thought and speak his mind. “Hey, Hanzo?” “Yes?” “You know it ain’t illegal to have emotions, right? We’re only human, weakness creeps up on us sometimes. Just a part o’ livin’. It’s shitty… but nothin' to be ashamed of. I want you to know that.” “I was reared in an environment where vulnerability was not to be nurtured… but I will take your words to heart.”

 

*****

 

The two finished their fodder in mutually accepted silence, their discourse having taken a morbid turn. Hanzo reflected on how much his opinion of the cowboy had changed since they first collaborated, while McCree thought of how much his bond with the archer had been strengthened… and how Reyes’ return would further fortify it. McCree would periodically look over his mug as he savoured his brew to sneak peeks at his breakfast date, eternally thankful he hadn’t lost him to the corruption of Talon. His eyes were repeatedly lured to his favourite features of the elder Shimada: his high cheekbones, his raven locks, his obsidian eyes that unfortunately were so often filled with woe. His reverence was cut short by the faint clink of Hanzo’s knife and fork upon his empty plate. “ _Gochisosama deshita._ I thank you again, McCree. I rather enjoyed that.” “You’re welcome, Hanzo. Least I could do; does my heart good to hear you say that.” McCree felt a surge of elation, evicting the blues that had bombarded his spirit earlier. He gathered their dishes and washed them by hand; Hanzo’s gallery was bare bones. Hanzo walked back to his room to examine his meager shelf of books, hoping to find one to adequately pass the time. McCree was drying the last of the cutlery when he heard a knock at the door. It’s probably Dr. Ziegler checking in, he thought. He heaved open the door expecting the fair, blonde Swiss woman… but instead he found the metallic, Japanese cyborg. " _Well, shit. This isn’t gonna end well..."_  he lamented to himself. Speaking faintly to not draw attention, he got straight to the point. “Genji?! What are you doing here? It’s not really the best time… I finally got Hanzo back in a decent mood.” “His current mood will have no positive effect upon him seeing me, McCree. You know that. May I speak with him?” “ _Genji_ , are you serious right now?” “I am, my friend. His words cannot hurt me, I assure you.” McCree sighed. He had first-hand experience; arguing with Genji was pointless. He would just have to make himself scarce. “...It’s your funeral.” He raised his voice to begin the facade: “Hanzo, I’m steppin’ out for a smoke! Be back later, OK?” He wasn’t kidding about the tobacco; he would absolutely need it. As he let the door close behind him, he lit up one of his favourite cigars. Both the smoke and his concern lingered in the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote most of this chapter in a day after writing down my ideas wherever I could. (i.e. scribbling in my notebook during quite a few lunch breaks :P) I never thought I would enjoy writing this much! I am way too deep in this ship and I am totally fine with it. Prepare for more angst next chapter as we continue my "Nurse McCree" arc~


	9. Taunt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's theme song is "Vain Hope" by NELL. It's one that really resonates with me, and it fits perfectly. We now go back to our scheduled programming!

As Hanzo pored over the weathered cloth spines of his modest book collection, he remembered how few possessions he actually owned. Upon leaving the clan, he had relinquished most of his belongings in exchange for a transient lifestyle. His fingers traced the embossed kanji that graced the protective covers of the tomes. _Shodo;_ calligraphy. _Kabuki;_ the classical drama. _Chanoyu;_ the tea ceremony. He had always exalted the traditional arts of his homeland, partaking in these rites in his past leisure. Hanzo enjoyed reading, and found comfort in the practical pages of non-fiction. Fiction of course, was trivial. Save his bow, a portion of his bygone wardrobe and these few pieces of literature, he had nothing to his name. How far he had fallen. He selected the slender calligraphy book and doubled back to the kitchen to quench his thirst with a glass of water. Caught unawares, his heart stopped. Jaw clenched as he scowled, he felt his blood come to a boil as every fibre in his body went as tight as a coiled spring. The pain in his chest returned with a horrible vengeance. Standing noiselessly near his entrance way was the walking, talking reminder of his misdeeds.

 

*****

 

Genji Shimada hailed his judge respectfully. “Greetings, brother. I hope you are well.” Hanzo responded in overly formal, seething Japanese. “....How _DARE_ you come here unsolicited.” He atypically raised his voice considerably in his scorn. **“** **What business do you have meddling in my affairs?”** Genji was ever impassive, no longer harboring ill will towards his kin. He joined in their vernacular, with appropriate politeness. “You do not dictate my actions, brother. I obey only myself.” “ **HA!** How quaint of you to say. You are a _fool_ to think that I will capitulate your pity.” In complete contrast to Hanzo’s provoked aggression, Genji was pensive. He chose his words in earnest. “Hanzo… am I not permitted to act humanely? Is my heart supposed to function akin to my cybernetics, devoid of feeling? Are you really so engrossed in self-loathing to think that I would pay no mind to your injuries... _anesthetized_ to my own brother in need?” “ ** _You_** … you have _no_ right to comment on my ideations.” “On the contrary, I feel I should.” “...I would have preferred being left to wither and rot where I fell.” Genji was saddened at Hanzo’s self abusive statement but went on, sedate. “I did what I did because believe it or not, I still care for you. I have walked along my path of reconciliation… I feel it is time you did the same. Father would not have wanted such animosity to persist between us.” Hanzo exploded at this reference, at the end of his fuse. In that moment he would have taken 1000 more blows to the chest, already ablaze, than stare his transgressions in the face. **“** **FATHER IS DEAD, AND SO ARE YOU! THOSE WHO PASS ON CAN NEVER RETURN FROM BEYOND... WHY MUST YOU HAUNT ME SO?** ” The dragon of the north wind remained temperate in the wake of such embitterment. He removed his faceplate in his frankness. Hanzo cringed, limbs quaking in remorse as his eyes stung with the onset of tears. None fell as he willed them back from whence they came. Genji’s russet gaze forcibly entered his soul with rampant, violent slashes. “Everything in this life happens for a reason, brother. Even if you continue to push me away, I will not abandon you or my pursuit of your well-being.” The calligraphy book fell to the floor with a thud as Hanzo went limp, grip quitting on him. Downcast, his closing statement to his blood was faint but brutally crass. “You have trespassed on my property… You have said your piece…  _Now get out of my sight_.” Genji knew he had done all he could. “Hanzo... I hope that someday you will see yourself as I do. I wish you a swift recovery. Farewell.” The sparrow reapplied his lustrous facial camouflage and showed himself out. In his introspection, he didn’t stop to update the dazed eavesdropper hunkered down by the door. He walked on, tuning out the world around him.

 

*****

 

"Genji? **GENJI!** **You know damn well I didn’t have subtitles, get back here!** ” McCree hollered. Nonetheless, he could only watch peeved as Genji wandered away, task complete. “Bullheadedness must run in the family…” he sighed. He tapped off some ash from his cigar, which had been reduced to a stub in his stake-out. McCree didn’t need to understand the language of “the land of the rising sun” to sense that the Shimada brothers hadn’t made nice. He was intentionally delaying his return to the room, and with good reason. It had been severely muffled, but what he _had_ heard both petrified and upset him. He knew within that intrinsically Hanzo was none of the attributes that had been conveyed through his speech: cruel, callous, scathing, vicious. It choked him up. Hanzo had mutated into a stranger, spurred on by the internal rage incited by Genji. McCree felt that his face was probably one of the last things Hanzo wanted to see at the moment, but the will of his heart was too strong. He had been bombarded by eerily similar emotions just a few short days ago. The worst thing he could do was to leave Hanzo to drown in the churning waves of yesteryear. He rose to his feet with a jangle of his spurs, pondering his next move. He knew he couldn’t waste time waiting for a miraculous diffusal of tension, entering the passcode for the door. " _Here goes nothin’_ ", he asserted to himself. The door opened with an gawky creak. He peered inside to see Hanzo’s back to him: posture listless, scarf limp. He had lowered himself to his knees, weighed down by cumbersome, invisible chains his mind had installed on his person upon his brother’s departure. His breathing was laboured as he tried to mitigate his distress; he did not stir as McCree returned. McCree could sense Hanzo’s withdrawal as he re-entered the space. He found himself stooping down to the archer’s level, tenderly placing his right hand on the middle of Hanzo’s back as he settled to the left of him. He spoke softly, with empathy: “Hey… mind if I join ya? You don’t have to say anythin’, I promise.” Hanzo vigorously glued his palms to his knees, but made no protest. “I know I said earlier I needed time… but ain’t no time like the present, it seems. Might as well spill the beans, right?" He laughed, marginally overwhelmed. "Where to start…” He paused to collect his thoughts before recounting his tale.

 

*****

 

“What hero _doesn’t_ have a tragic backstory? Can’t say I know any, myself. I haven’t always been your friendly neighbourhood gunslinger... I grew up in a hellhole with a rough crowd. Don’t remember much about my folks; things got hairy ‘round our parts after the Omnic Crisis began. It was every man for themselves… bandits got to ‘em. Remember how I said guns scared me as a kid? I think I’ve repressed what went down. The jitters stayed put for years, though. Got shuffled around between foster homes a bunch after that, one “home” after another. Started actin’ out at a young age, the scamp that I was. Nobody wanted me around for long. Authority meant nothin’ to me; real men settled things the old fashioned way by puttin’ up their dukes. If I had a dollar for every shiner I caused or tooth I knocked out, I’d be a rich man. The Deadlock Gang gained momentum as I grew up; I’d been eyein’ membership for years. They looked fuckin’ _badass_ roamin’ the streets… and I was jealous they were part of somethin’ greater. Signed up as soon as I was 14, bustin' out o' my prison at the time. My motto used to be “what’s yours is mine.” _That_ Jesse McCree had a ravin’ foul-mouth and a reputation for bein’ a juvenile delinquent. Back then I thought I was hot shit- I was kickin’ ass and takin’ names. I turned a mostly blind eye to the backroom dealings- y’know, the weapon traffickin' and all that jazz. Yeah it was part of the gig, but it wasn’t my high. I was frontline muscle and lovin’ every minute of it. I admit the “boys” and I did some heinous things, all without carin’ why…” He gulped as he revealed his offenses. “We robbed, beat people to a pulp… even carried out hits. It didn’t matter who you were… we did it. But through it all, I felt wanted… appreciated. I felt like I belonged, y’know? They were my family, and we were untouchable… until that day. I was 18 at the time, feelin’ invincible. My squad and I rolled on out to Route 66 to our warehouse to meet with a new “associate” for a supply deal. Little did we know it was all a set-up… we got duped. Overwatch booked our asses, and we got sent to the slammer. At least, that’s what I thought the universe had in store for me. Halfway through my interrogation, this snarky guy walks in. Says he’s the leader of Blackwatch, the covert ops division of Overwatch. He’d heard I knew my way around a revolver and wanted to see me in action. He gave me an ultimatum that would change my life. He said, “Jesse McCree, your thug shenanigans are at an end. Even though you were an _idiot_ , I don’t let talent go to waste. You can either rot in a cell… or join my team. Neither are an easy way out, so pick your poison.” I knew I wouldn’t last a day in jail… so I shook his hand and called it square."

 

*****

 

McCree’s fond memories of his mentor affected his delivery; he started off with a smile in his voice. “His name was Gabriel Reyes; a middle aged son of a gun from LA. Showed me the ropes, took me under his wing. No one had ever met the ends of his shotguns and lived to write home about it. In our early days we’d go at it… said everythin’ he did was “for my own good”. He made me study for and finish my GED, gave me workout routines, drilled battle tactics into my brain… and taught me how to cook. At first it pissed me off that he was always lookin’ over my shoulder, pushin’ all my buttons. If he didn’t like what he saw, I’d be the first to hear about it. He wouldn’t get off my back, and I hated him for it. But now I know he did all that because he cared, wanted to see me succeed. He was always bustin’ my balls, but damn was he ever charismatic. Over the years we became two peas in a pod. He was the main attraction and I was his trusty sidekick; the boss and the kid. All the mission hijinks, inside jokes, the heart to hearts… I wouldn’t trade any of that for the world. He… he was the father I never had." His cheer ended as he recalled less jubilant times. “When he died… it destroyed me. I couldn’t bear to even hear his name. He had gone somewhere I couldn’t follow. Gotta admit, there were times I thought about joining ‘im. The one person that had _chosen_ me by his own free will, without bribes or strings attached… I had to watch the earth devour his casket.” His voice cracked as he spoke through snivels: “Just when I thought my mournin’ was over… that _thing_ shows up. _Mijo..._ that was his pet name for me. _Fuck, I can’t..._ ” McCree convulsed as he tried to erase the evidence of his leaking nose and eyes with his prosthesis, selflessly refusing to lift his show of support off of Hanzo’s back.

 

Hanzo had not outwardly indicated such, but he had been listening attentively to McCree’s narrative. Humans were certainly enigmatic beings; he did not anticipate any part of his traumatic anecdote. As the gunslinger broke down, Hanzo wordlessly pried his left hand away from his frame and laid it to rest on McCree’s knee. He covertly hoped that this action would speak louder than words, a telepathic acknowledgement. In the past, he would have mocked such spineless frailty in an instant. This time, he could not refute their parallels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was a struggle to write McCree's backstory with minimal canon, but I like to think it came out okay considering. Hearing all the interactions that Reyes and McCree had during the Retribution event really solidified my view of them as a mentor/mentee & father/son duo. Ugh, my hearttttt *dies*


	10. Home

As the hours dragged on, the two left many things unsaid as they fought against the further deterioration of their morale. McCree, who had eventually scraped himself off the floor, wanted to change that. He knew he had to temporarily drive away his own suffering, as much as it hurt, in order to heal another’s. He had given himself ample time to feel profoundly on this day. Hanzo had meandered to his bedroom, skirmishing with his focus as he attempted to finally read the calligraphy book from afore. The uniform lines of hiragana inhabiting the fragile, browned pages were not registering as he read the same passage over and over again. His energy had been completely spent, both the aftermath of his eruption and his soreness subduing him. He wished that he could disappear into oblivion... but alas, he remained. Amidst a potent headache, his ears detected an advance. McCree traipsed in with a bed tray, eyes still slightly red from his bawl. Hanzo was stunned at this rebound, but kept his voice flat: “McCree… what _are_ you doing?” The cowboy responded with reasonable strength, to Hanzo’s amazement: “Hey now, no need to worry ‘bout me. I’ll be all right... you’ve gotta let nature take its course, right? You, sir are in big trouble- I haven’t seen you eat a crumb all day.” Hanzo looked away from his accuser. “I… have lost my appetite.” “That won’t cut it today, Hanzo. You’re not gonna feel any better unless you get somethin’ in ya. I brought you some tomato soup and some honey lemon tea, they should help with your throat. Make sure to take your meds, ok? I’m not leavin’ 'til you do.” McCree assumed his position at the corner chair after lightly setting the wooden tray before his charge. He examined the room around him as he tried not to stare at the bed’s occupant. Both the bowl and mug were garnished with steam as warmth emanated from their contents. Hanzo briefly considered contesting this offering, but could not bring himself to disappoint his caretaker… especially after the earlier ordeal. He first raised the mug to his arid lips, swallowing the pills he’d been ordered to take. The liquid within was pacifying as it gently rinsed his parched throat, still bruised. The soup was simple, but cooperated with his troubled stomach. As he gathered the last of the velvety broth in his spoon, McCree piped up. “ I know it’s past sundown, but why don’t we take a walk? We could both use the fresh air.”

 

The two vacated Hanzo’s quarters, stepping out into the nipping evening air. McCree donned his serape and re-affixed his trusty hat to his head. Hanzo chose not to sport any extra layers, despite his maladies. They roamed side by side as fluorescent lights draped the watchpoint in a warehouse-esque glow. McCree glanced over at Hanzo out of investigation; he saw that the colour had come back to his face. Every so often he would contort as he invested a great deal of effort into filling his lungs. McCree would make sure that they stopped for breaks as Hanzo trudged through harsh coughing fits. After one such event, he set a supportive hand on Hanzo’s shoulder. “You’re doin’ great. I know it’s hard.” the gunslinger said sympathetically. They had made it back to the shore, back to where this whole mess had begun. McCree motioned to Hanzo to follow him: “Might as well take in the view.” They ascended the stairs of one of the industrial structures overlooking the clear horizon. McCree hunkered down onto the flat, frosty roof, dangling his legs off the edge. Hanzo transitioned to his meditation position in kind, weary from their terse excursion. Whilst up there, the moon and stars illuminated their figures as they shone without the interference of all things metropolitan. The glimmer of the beacons wobbled in the murky Mediterranean below. “Normally I’d break out the whiskey in times like these, but I’ll take a raincheck. Say, Hanzo… what do you do when the blues hit ya?” Hanzo took a moment to formulate his answer. “When I was distressed in my youth... I would go to my window to view the cherry blossom trees. The season mattered not. I gazed upon the branches, admiring their shape and everlasting form. I would examine and memorize every splendid twist and turn. There is beauty in simplicity. Of course I cannot deny that the heralding of spring made the sight that much more sedative. Now... I can only bide.” “You sure miss the place, huh?” “I… have learned to be content with mere memories. It is no longer my home.” “Can’t say I’ve ever had a fixed address, never stuck around long enough in one spot to make one. Before Deadlock, I’d sneak out of my jail o’ the week to take a gander at the stars. The brightest ones were never my favourite; I preferred the small fries playin’ backup. Every night without fail they’d come to greet me… I knew I could always count on ‘em to watch over me. Once I met Reyes, I kicked the habit...” He sighed as he scoured the night sky. “Looks like I’ll be takin’ it up again.” He rotated his torso, hands at either side, to appeal to Hanzo directly. “Hanzo… you’ve gotta go back to Hanamura sometime. You can’t go the rest of your life runnin’ away from it. Promise me you’ll at least think about it.” “What would that achieve? Consider what has come to pass over the course of my life, McCree.” The archer’s voice was plagued with torment: “I have nothing… because I _am_ nothing.” McCree turned himself back towards the infinite indigo spread. He spoke coolly, masking his conflicting opinion. “Sorry to burst your bubble, Hanzo… but you’re _dead_ wrong. You have me.”

 

*****

 

Hanzo was at a loss for words, decidedly speechless. He could not comprehend what the gunslinger had just freely declared as his eyes bored into the back of McCree’s head. His subject slid backwards to put feet to floor; as he rose, he offered an outstretched hand. “We should start makin’ tracks. Too much cold ain’t good for ya. You comin’?” Hanzo was jolted as his symbolic illusion came to mind. The darkness, his emotions, the gestures… the whole affair was a complete mirror. As he took McCree’s hand, it was only for the physical assistance for his battered body. He had no desire to entertain that dream again… or did he? He tried his best to keep his mind blank as McCree escorted him back to his chambers, concentrating on his footing. The pair slowly but surely backtracked to the desolate hallway, both fatigued from the events of the day. McCree popped a question out of the blue, slightly embarrassed, as Hanzo made his way to his room. “Hey Hanzo… ya mind if I crash here tonight? I think I need a change of scenery for the night… too many mementos at my place.” Hanzo knew the feeling that he was describing all too well. Inanimate objects held their own terrifying power over the subconscious mind; joyful reminders were quick to change to sorrowful ones. “Of course… I apologize for the lack of suitable furniture.” “Nah, I’ve had to rough it plenty times. This is the Ritz in comparison.” “I see… I bid you goodnight, then.” “Night, Hanzo. Sleep well.” he said with a humble wave. Hanzo took one look back before settling in for the night: “McCree… you must tell me about New Mexico sometime. Until tomorrow, then.”

 

As McCree watched Hanzo leave, he was saddened by their parting. Being under the same roof no longer seemed satisfactory enough… and that fact frightened him. He accepted the fact that perhaps he was past the point of no return as he paced around Hanzo’s kitchen. He was uncertain, but could not deny his intrusive inner thoughts. Maybe he’d pay Genji a visit soon; he was the best at analyzing things with a neutral lens. He shifted his focus to finding a suitable spot to lay his head; the floor would have to do. He set his hat down on the bleak tiles in place of a pillow. Wrapping his serape around him, he prepared to meet his solid resting place… but an urge to snoop stopped him. He tiptoed over to Hanzo’s room and stealthily opened the door, but only to a slit. Inside the archer was sleeping soundly, his tresses splayed across his pillow in charcoal streaks. He looked serene in his slumber, his mental and physical pain banished underneath the glow of the moon. McCree’s organs jerked in response, enchanted. He noticed that Hanzo’s blanket was slightly off-kilter, and went inside to correct it. He stood over the archer, heart racing as he pulled the fuzzy covering back over his hibernating confidant. “ _You did good today, Han.”_ he proclaimed within. Once a few more precious moments had passed, he closed the door behind him. He went back to his place on the kitchen floor. They had both been through so much, but his brain paid no mind to his own strife. He closed his eyes with one conviction having been cemented in his heart; he would protect that man with everything he had.

 

*****

 

Hanzo and McCree survived the first week of their semi cohabitation only slightly worse for wear. Hanzo was growing to like mornings in new ways thanks to McCree’s culinary offerings; his “signature” blueberry pancakes proved to be a big hit. On this particular morning, McCree could be found cracking eggs to whisk for french toast as Hanzo arrived to take his place at the table. He had already made some progress in his recovery, to the gunslinger’s pleasure. Hanzo’s chest still ached profusely, but the bruise on his neck was barely visible. The one on his flank had changed from maroon to bluish with green edges, signalling the healing process at work. McCree had been diligent with his handy-dandy ice packs, fashioning one anew every 2 hours like clockwork. He knew that Hanzo had been waited upon hand and foot as scion of the clan, but that was out of service… his care was out of sincerity. He beamed as Hanzo appeared: “There’s my favourite archer! How are ya feelin’ today?” “Fair, thank you.” “I think I might go into town today, stock up on some things. D.Va and Lúcio mentioned somethin’ ‘bout a summer carnival, got roped into goin’. It’ll give ya some privacy- I’m sure you’re gettin’ sick o’ me by now!” he chuckled. Hanzo refrained from saying the words his mind formed, an outright omission. “I understand. By all means, do not feel that you need to monitor me. I am quite content in my own company. Please enjoy yourself.” As McCree soaked slices of brioche in the egg, milk and cinnamon blend he had prepared, he was conflicted. On one hand he didn’t want to smother Hanzo, but on the other… he didn’t want to leave him behind. However, he knew that it was best for the both of them if he went away for a while. He still hadn’t disclosed his inner turmoil to anyone. “Oh yeah... you asked me to tell you about New Mexico, right? My bad, almost forgot about that.” “Only if you feel comfortable in doing so.” “Still got a bit to go on our munchies here, so why not?” He spoke to his new topic as he placed a piece of bread in his frying pan.

 

“New Mexico… population’s around 2 million, not too many folks. Plenty turned tail once the crisis started, but that was universal. It was colonized by Spanish settlers way back when the indigenous folk ruled the roost, so there’s no shortage of Spanish speakers.” He knew that Hanzo would be intrigued, so he turned to explain himself with a laugh: “I can get words here and there, but don’t ask me to interpret or nothin’!" “I wouldn’t dream of it.” Hanzo teased. "Anyway, decent weather most of the year- even in winter. I don’t miss the dog days of summer over there, that’s for sure. You’d think your skin would melt clean off some days! I’m Santa Fe born and raised, its capital city. Not much to comment on there, ‘cept the mountains could take anybody’s breath away. God, they were beautiful… who can say if they’re still there. If I had to choose just one thing I miss about it all, it would be the landscape. Ridin’ on horseback through the massive red and yellow cliffs… Rock walls that made you feel ant-sized... Gorges and plains that went on forever… stargazin’ under open skies. All mighty fine… it’s been too long.” “Nature certainly leaves a lasting impression; its artistry is timeless. Will you ever return?” “We’ll see if I can get my outstandin' warrants down to a manageable number first, haha. Perfect timin’! Just aboutttttt… Done!” Hanzo salivated as McCree slid the golden brown morsels onto a plate, topping them off with icing sugar and some fresh berries. “Voila! Crap, is that the time already? I promised those whippersnappers I’d meet up with ‘em at 10. Can I use your shower, Hanzo? Water’s actin’ up at my place.” “Very well, but _please_ be mindful of the hot water. If you exhaust it, gunslinger... so help me. Thank you for breakfast.” “Whew, thanks! _Bone appleteeth!_ ” Hanzo shook his head as McCree sped away to the bathroom, cringing at his attempt at the well-known French salutation. He tucked into the golden eats as McCree’s shower singing provided a dampened soundtrack. He was permanently amazed at McCree’s capability in the kitchen, wondering what other hidden talents would present themselves.

 

*****

 

Halfway into his first piece of doughy delight, there was a single knock at the door. Strange, he thought- the only person that called was McCree, and he was belting away in his aquatic recording booth. He opened the door to find a plain, white envelope sitting at his doorstep. Hanzo was disturbed… even if those on the base _did_ receive mail, this letter had no recipient or return address. He leaned forward and turned his head to scan both ends of the hall for a courier, but saw no one. He hesitantly bent down to gather the ambiguous article. As he turned it over to open it, his eyes fixed upon the crimson wax seal that came between him and the details… not to mention the stamp that embellished its middle. Three prongs pointed downward, the center one sharply pointed like a wooden stake. Hanzo’s adrenaline kicked in as he recognized the perilous initial; heart beating frantically. The correspondence he held in his hand… came from none other than Talon.


	11. Match

As he held the dispatch in flustered fingers, Hanzo hadn’t the foggiest idea of what message could be inscribed within. However, he could sense that it was meant for _his_ eyes only. It had been established… _they_ were watching. One thing he knew for certain; he could _not_ allow McCree to lay eyes on it. He would have to open it once he was absolutely sure he was alone. He went over to his miniature library; he knew that McCree would _never_ browse through books he couldn’t actually read. Hanzo clandestinely opened the _kabuki_ hardcover to place the note in quarantine before returning it to its place amongst the other manuals. Before going back for his second attempt at breakfast, he sighed in relief as the main event was put on hiatus. The hard back of the chair stiffly welcomed him as he picked up his knife and fork anew. While still delicious, his next bites were unfortunately not as enjoyable. “Welp, I owe ya one Hanzo! Sorry ‘bout the wa- Hey, you ok? You look as white as a sheet...” Hanzo wasn’t sure what was worse for his cardiac integrity- the thought of inevitably opening the letter or looking up from his meal to see a freshly showered McCree making a pit stop on his way to get dressed. The dragon’s onyx pupils swelled to the size of saucers; his blood was sent pumping into overdrive. Water droplets decorated McCree’s robust physique as they descended from moistened locks, causing whorls to appear in the masculine tufts upon his tan hide. On their route, they finely traced the defined grooves of his broad chest and abdominals before meeting their end beneath his navel at the light grey towel that modestly covered the remainder of his figure. The cowboy’s muscles were not in gross excess, but rather nicely proportionate. His right hand wiped away the damp stragglers from his whiskered face while the lean members of his left upper arm were on display, his metal digits clasping the absorbent material swathing him. For 37, Jesse McCree was no slouch in the upkeep of his temple- and it showed.

 

Hanzo sputtered through the sip of tea he was taking, using the cough as part of his cover-up: “M-Me? *cough* Absolutely! *cough* Just a slight *cough* aspiration... no trouble at all. *cough*” McCree looked on, unconvinced. His right hand met his sturdy side. “Mmhmm... If you say so. You know you can tell me anythin’, right?” Hanzo cleared his throat multiple times as he tried to apply the same technique to his thoughts. “I do appreciate said outreach McCree, but I affirm that I am not deceiving you.” “Ok… don’t make me worry about ya while I’m gone. How’s the chow?” “Pleasantly delectable.” Still engaging the semi-bare McCree, Hanzo felt his flesh become infused with heat as he realized the double entendre of said reply. By chance, the irritation and strain in the aftermath of his coughing assisted in maintaining his composure. “Good, good. Oh yeah, I’d better stop lollygaggin’ and vamoose!” McCree dashed over to Hanzo’s room, where his clothes sat folded in wait on the corner chair. Fully dressed, he sped towards the door as his spurs rattled thunderingly. “Later, Hanzo! Stay outta trouble!” As the red and brown blur of McCree’s clothing blew past him like a shot, Hanzo lost his appetite out of denial. In all his life, he had never faced the imps of infatuation. “Attraction” was among a plethora of words not listed in his personal dictionary. Clan matters had alway taken precedent over all other sorts… replacing those of certain sentiments. For once, he did not enjoy his solitude as both humiliation and burden loomed. As he walked over to the bookshelf, he wondered what foul beasts would be unleashed next.

 

*****

 

Hanzo felt dread’s wicked tendrils twine around him as he sat upon the edge of his bed, letter in hand. The former successor to the Shimada empire did not fear a threat to his own life; the receipt of countless in his prime had made him immune to such intimidation. Neither suggestions of violence nor blackmail did anything to terrorize him… but other parties were involved now. He was no longer the only soldier on this battlefield. The warden of the Peacekeeper was his primary concern as he unhurriedly peeled the wax seal from the flap where it sat. The unassuming shell had guarded a smooth sheet of soft cream parchment; its high quality could be unmistakably felt as Hanzo spread open its folds with bated breath. The surface was equally as barren as its vessel save one element, handwritten in ebony ink. Centered on the page was a sole foreboding line of menacingly elegant cursive script: _If we cannot have him, no one can._ Hanzo’s alarm immediately dissipated as he recognized that his worry had been more than redundant.  He guffawed at such cowardice. _“ Ha! Fruitless tidings indeed. Surely they jest… I have no time for such foolish games. What nerve they have to waste my time with such a pathetic portent.”_ he thought to himself as he tore through the minute fibres, shredding the letter to scraps like a ravenous predator debasing the carcass of its prey. If they were so hell-bent on coaxing McCree to join their ranks, they would have forgone semantics and defaulted to force on that day two weeks ago. They had been more than capable, as demonstrated by the execution of their assault on the base. As comical as it all was, Hanzo acted on the assassin's mentality; no evidence could be left behind. Since his injury, dressing was a laborious process- his motivation to dispose of the trash proved more powerful than his wounds. He gathered his confetti in a balled fist and stepped out into the June sunshine, destination securely in mind. Resolutely, he made his way to the practice range as he paced himself in accordance with the current limits of his body. His months of visitation had proven that the grounds were invariably vacant before the noon hour- he would not be seen. Standing atop the sheet metal for the umpteenth time, the events of the archer and gunslinger’s wayward saga replayed in Hanzo’s head as the eastward gale pulled his scarf into its stream. For him there was still a legion of questions left unanswered, a bounty of plots unresolved. However, he was sure that Jesse McCree’s charitable essence would never bend to injustice. _“Begone with you.”_ he proclaimed within. He exonerated his paper prisoners and watched them sail into the heavens as he literally threw caution to the wind.

 

*****

 

Meanwhile, McCree was navigating the streetscapes of Gibraltar as the two youths he had been escorting were occupied by the hustle and bustle of the celebration of the summer solstice. Historically the capital had always been sparsely populated, but that was not the impression one was left with in the midst of the crowds. He found himself amongst cobblestone walkways, buildings tinted in lively pastels with rustic windows and shutters, thriving pubs and restaurants fronted by decorative arches. Hanging planters provided further bursts of colour with luscious blooms. He was surprised that Winston had allowed them to take this field trip in the aftermath of the Talon attack, which made the balmy temperature and picturesque surroundings that much more enjoyable. Accustomed to the heat, he eventually settled on a bench by the water with the carnival games in the foreground. While he regarded from afar, McCree was exceedingly appreciative of the ordinary; children laughing, the delighted expressions of those enjoying their favourite ice cream, couples holding hands. All were enjoying an elusive twinkling of peace in their unstable universe, including Hana Song and Lúcio Correia dos Santos. McCree observed them for a while, reflecting on how it felt to be so fledgling. At 19 and 26 respectively, they were youngsters amongst the Overwatch veterans. Yes they were legally adults, but very much rambunctious. Hana, in graphic tank and shorts, shrieked with glee as she brutally defeated a street-clothed Lúcio in a match of whack-a-mole, smacking the last plastic mammal into submission with a spirited “Nerf this!”. He chuckled as the normally peppy DJ demanded a rematch, arms flailing as she flashed a playful peace sign. It felt good to see them so immature… he knew that they were unfortunately far from naive when it came to warfare. They all needed a break from the tribulations that had been thrust upon them. Even McCree himself had never been a saint at their age or otherwise, but he was no longer a sinner. He wanted those two to seize every chance to take back some of their lost adolescence, for those that could not. He wondered what Hanzo’s formative years had looked like… and what he was up to. Was he ok? He _knew_ he was fine, but that did not quell his concern. It was odd being away from his side. Hana boisterously called over to him, beaming with confidence. “HEY, OLD MAN! QUIT IT WITH THE LONG FACE, IT’S YOUR TURN TO GET WRECKED!” He snapped out of his pensive mood and went over to confront the petite Korean menace. It was time to show the these squirts who’s boss. “Challenge accepted, little lady… but _I’m_ choosin’ the game this time around.” he asserted. “Pfffft, you’re on! Think you can keep up with _me_ ?” she taunted. “Oooooooh McCree, you’re about to get **served**!” Lucio said, entertained. He anticipated a bunny shaped bruise to McCree’s ego in the hours to come.

 

*****

 

McCree returned to the base that evening with three things- two wide brown bags filled with produce from the town market and a newfound grudge against carnival games. Lúcio’s prophecy had come true; Hana had been ruthless in her pursuit of triumph. He hadn’t come out on top in a single matchup against the dainty MEKA pilot: the ring toss, the dart throw… not even in the epic clash of the water guns. That had been quite the debacle. His white flag had been raised, but he took solace in knowing that the kids got a kick out of it. Seeing their sides split made it all worth it; they deserved a good laugh for their hard work on the team. As Hana and Lúcio waved him goodbye before continuing their vivacious chatter, he elected to drop off his goods at his place instead of making a beeline to Hanzo’s. There was some outstanding business he had to attend to, and he couldn’t put it on hold any longer. It was time to seek the advice of the ninja, who conveniently lived next door. After unloading his cargo on his own kitchen counters to attend to later, he anxiously knocked on Genji’s door. Despite being neighbours, McCree was not a frequent visitor- neither were usually home. A short time later, the younger Shimada came to scout his summons. “McCree? What brings you here, my friend?” he asked, genuinely curious. “Hey, Gen… I know it’s been a while, but I really need to talk to you about somethin’. Can I come in?” “Of course. I am honoured to have your trust. Please make yourself at home.” McCree awkwardly set foot in Genji’s abode, eyes shifting back and forth. He had never been within these walls- and therefore had no clue what to expect. He thought that Hanzo’s quarters were desolate, but this dwelling was essentially vacant. Genji had taken the term “minimalist” to the extreme; McCree could only spot an incense burner and candles in the immediate vicinity. The light from the flames cast a tranquil glow in the unfilled area. There was no trace of a kitchen, only empty space where a rolled up futon sat lonesome in a corner. “You are my first guest in a long time, I apologize for being unprepared. The bedroom should supply sufficient seating.” “Wait- you don’t use it for _sleepin’_ in?” “No, it is not to my liking. I use it for storage.” “You still really confuse me, you know that?” Genji let out a faint laugh. “I am well aware, McCree. But… not all entities need to be fully understood.” As Genji led his company into the next room, McCree scratched his head. “Damn, that Zenyatta’s made you a right philosopher.”

  
The semi-circular chrome ceiling light had been turned on to illuminate their meeting. Genji took his place on the floor, cross legged as expected, to the right of the twin mattress McCree saw against the back wall of the cramped room. The dimensions were scant, but he supposed it didn’t matter to the cyborg. To the left of the doorway, Genji’s beloved sword and knife were sheathed on wall mounts while a small wooden chest of drawers was on the opposite wall. It played host to two more candles contained in shallow bowls… with a picture frame as the centrepiece. McCree was gobsmacked by the photograph beneath the glass; there was no mistaking the identities of the two men that were the subjects of the image. A strapping young Genji stood smiling in his family’s garb, flashy green mane on full display in flagrant contrast to his dark eyebrows. He looked as if he hadn’t a care in the world... so upbeat and full of life. That alone was intriguing, but McCree was absorbed by the other fellow. To Genji’s left stood the man that had dominated his attention as of late. Hanzo, satiny hair framing his handsome face, haughtily crossed his arms in indifference. His expression was neutral, with no indication as to his emotions in that moment. He was dying to know more of the circumstances of the still, to dive in… but held. Genji could not ignore McCree’s ogling: “That which you see is a snapshot of one man who went astray, and one who no longer exists… it would be wrong to say otherwise. I keep it as a reminder of what was… and what could be.” McCree felt a jolt of guilt: “I’m sorry, Genji. I should’ve asked first before stickin’ my nose where it shouldn’t.” “There is no need to ask for my forgiveness, McCree. I have never denied my past. Curiosity is natural. Do you need another moment?” “No… I’ve kept you waitin’ long enough.” McCree parked on the edge of the bed, fingers interlocked as he rest his forearms on his thighs. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. “Shit… I don’t think I can do this.” Genji offered his support: “Do not be afraid to speak your mind, McCree. My mind is unclouded by the unproductive concept of judgment. Holding back will only do more harm.” McCree buried his face in his hands as he felt the room grow colder with each tick of his pocket watch. It started to spin as all the moisture in his mouth evaporated. “I can’t believe I’m sayin’ this… I think I have feelings for your brother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The photo I describe is actually one that could be found in Nepal- Village before the Young Hanzo and Young Genji skins were released. It was put in Genji's room as a teaser, you can take a peek here if you've never seen it: http://i.imgur.com/siu3Q7F.png  
> I'm pretty sure it's still in game, I suddenly remembered it, lol. (Pardon that horrendous crashing sound, it was my heart breaking.) I was kind of stumped on this chapter for a while, but I made it through! Whew :P Hopefully you enjoy!


	12. Gift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted this before but was paranoid because I didn't see my fic on the first few pages of the relationship tag after updating! It was in draft for a while so maybe that was it? Idk I feel better this way XD Reupload, commence~

Having made his announcement, McCree was swamped by nausea as he flopped backwards onto the concrete bunk beneath him. The two Blackwatch alumni took a wordless intermission as McCree dealt with his epiphany and Genji processed the unanticipated news. Ultimately the cowboy broke the silence: “Go on then… laugh.” he said, mortified. Genji was quick on the uptake. “I will do no such thing.” he said with utmost seriousness. “McCree, you have already gone above and beyond my original request to watch over Hanzo. For that, I am eternally in your debt. When you were viewing our photograph, I could sense that you care for him deeply… but was unaware of the full extent.” McCree lay with his hands behind his head, hat resting on his face. “Genjiiiii… I’ve got it bad. Fuck, am I in deep.” “Jesse... listen to me. I will not allow you to feel disgrace over such purity or discount its validity. In my misspent youth, I was with many a woman… but there was no substance to any of these relationships. They were entranced by my outward persona: cordial, suave, flirtatious, seductive. I showered them with praise and gifts out of boredom; I manipulated their obsessions with me for my own entertainment. It was an endless cycle of physical convenience… with neither party caring as to who the other truly was. Lust tends to do such. Once my needs were met, we parted ways. What _you_ are feeling right now… is wholly beautiful in comparison. How long have you known?” McCree grumbled; he knew that dishonesty was off the table. He replied quietly in his chagrin. “Physically? The first time I saw him trainin' in person. Gave me goosebumps… he still does. Mentally? Well... after I almost lost him. Post attack I realized just how far I would go for him, the energy he brings out o’ me. I’ve been bendin’ over backwards makin’ sure he feels safe, wanted… deservin'. When I’m around him, it never feels like enough. When I look at him, I see so much beyond his troubles: mystery, discovery... opportunity. I know we’re nothin’ alike, but that _excites_ me- he drives me crazy in the best way possible. I... I finally realize how much he’s a part of me now.” Genji allowed those words to reverberate throughout the room before speaking further. “You must tell him these things yourself, Jesse.” McCree responded, pained. “Genji, how can I? He’s so refined… so disciplined… what could I possibly offer him? I’m just a bumpkin with good intentions. There’s no way in hell he’d ever feel the same way about me.” He sighed, pessimistic. “The way I see it, I’m doomed to lug around this ball n’ chain ‘til I croak.” “That could not be further from the truth. You have many admirable traits, including a generous heart capable of so much… My father often tried to see to it that Hanzo was wed to, in his words, a “fair maiden” to preserve our lineage. Time after time, he rejected advances from female suitors. No woman was to his liking; I could not comprehend why. I assumed he was consumed by his duties, uninterested in matters of the heart. Thinking on it now… perhaps he never knew what he truly desired.” “Damn… guess that makes two of us.”

 

*****

 

As an hour flew by, McCree felt liberated in knowing that he had an unlikely confidant in the second-born dragon brother. Preparing to depart, he still had one thing on his mind. “Sooo Genji… you _do_ realize what we just talked about, right? Y’know… the whole _me-_ havin’-the-doe-eyes-for- _your-_ only-brother deal? You _sure_ you’re okay with that? Just say the word… and, umm…” The very idea hit him like a freight train. “Friends come first… I’ll back off.” Without hesitation, Genji was ever nonpartisan. “There is a Japanese proverb I found valuable during my time with the Shambali: “the bamboo that bends is stronger than the oak that resists.” Change. Adapt. Accept. The late Genji would have reacted in disgust, but his voice is not the one you hear. Should anything come of your longing… you have my blessing.” McCree was greatly moved by this acceptance. In the back of his mind, he fiercely hoped that Genji’s diplomacy was not masking mere tolerance- both brothers were notoriously hard to read. He decided to take the most plausible option and run with it. “Hey, I really appreciate you lettin’ me come clean like that. No joke- I was fit to burst. I didn’t have anyone else to turn to. ...I thought I’d be eaten alive by my own doin’. I’ll figure things out… it’s all so damn complicated.” The individual he carried a torch for flashed through his mind. Wrangling with this awakening in his presence would be a gargantuan task… but he had to sustain normalcy. He would yield to this new challenge- there would be no change in his treatment. “For now, I’ll keep givin’ it all I got. Thank you, Genji.” “Had our situations been reversed, I know I would have wished to hear a similar oath. I am honoured that you entrusted me with your revelation, while also considering my feelings. I must thank you as well… perhaps Hanzo’s soul will mend after all.” McCree stepped out into the hall, his remedial session concluded. “If nothing else... I hope you two can bury the hatchet someday.” “Only time will tell. Until we meet again, take care.” As the cyborg slid back into his shadowy shelter, McCree popped back to his place to gather the goods he’d bought in town. As he navigated his way over to Hanzo’s home, he tried to come to terms with the uncertainty of it all. Just as he had done countless times before, he planned on greeting his patient with a smile.

 

*****

 

9:00 pm- Hanzo found himself sipping his jade hued infusion as he tried to govern his mental menagerie. His day had not been a productive one after McCree’s retreat, beset by distraction and denial. It was crippling; he could feel a phantom barbed wire puncturing the thick, vascular structure housed in his chest. Yet the ensnared organ twitched with contrary cheer as he laid eyes on McCree, arms full of groceries. McCree himself hid his newfound anxiety behind confident greetings: “Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes! Howdy, Hanzo.” Hanzo put tremendous effort into maintaining eye contact, the morning’s image of the drenched gunslinger still at the fore of his mind. “Ah, McCree. Welcome back. I was starting to think that you would not be by until tomorrow.” “What can I say? I’m like the cherry blossoms you like so much; I keep comin’ back.” “Perennial indeed.” Hanzo remarked faintly, fixed on his drink. McCree could sense that his reception was not as hospitable as in those past. “I bought some ingredients for some recipes I wanna try. I could just put ‘em away and skedaddle… I don’t have to stay. You look like you wanna hit the hay.” “It is not a matter of fatigue. I am… just slightly under the weather. Stay and tell me of your civic adventure if it suits you.” Relieved, McCree chatted as he homed the spices, fruits and vegetables in Hanzo’s pantry with care. “Not too much to report, but it was fun. Sun was shinin’, the weather was 10 outta 10. Probably a tad on the hot side for some folks, but I felt like a gecko in the desert. Nice place, the capital. Craggy cliffs, shimmerin’ sea- a change of scenery can do wonders. You’d think the Omnics never revolted, all those people out enjoyin’ life.” “And what of your wards for the day?” Hanzo inquired. “Those kids… gotta love ‘em. To say they’re competitive would be an understatement, but there’s not a bad bone in their bodies. No better way to describe ‘em than ‘good’, straight up. Those rascals made me feel 10 years younger. Don’t tell ‘em I told you this… but they’d make a damn cute couple. Lúcio was starry-eyed, poor thing. I could read him like a book!” He paused for a spell. “Maybe one day this fightin’ will stop. He could say how he feels… maybe they could have a life together.” As McCree subtly referenced his position, Hanzo reflected on his own. “If only it was that simple. Perhaps he fears unrequited passion. Or, he is mistaken…. baffled. Regrettably, idylls usually go unrealized.” “Anyway, he’ll know himself best. Hope he at least gives it a shot. That Hana’s certainly a firecracker, I like her spunk. Speaking of…”

 

Nearing the end of the second bag, McCree remembered the special delivery hidden inside. He thrust his arm within to reach the bounty at the bottom, bag almost up to his shoulder. He held it in both hands, close to his chest, the possibility of rejection all too real. His back to Hanzo, he gave a disclaimer before his conferral. “That lil’ scoundrel beat me at every game we played. Ugh, it was a beatdown for the ages. I really wanted to bring home the big teddy bear for ya, but I had to make do with the runner up’s prize. It’s not much… but I hope you get well soon.”  McCree walked over with a fluffy object; Hanzo’s interest was captured as the transfer of ownership took place. In his hands was a small, plush shorthair cat. It was riddled with imperfections: a lop ear, an uneven number of whiskers, a penny sized hole in its tail revealing its stuffed innards. Despite these flaws its snow-white fur was velour-like, pleasantly fuzzy. Its expression was mischievous, plastic eyes bright with wonder. It was an unorthodox souvenir, to say the least. Had it been anyone but McCree, Hanzo would have thrown such an infantile offering back at the donor in revulsion. Holding the plaything in his clutches, Hanzo found it considerably endearing… it had been many years since he’d received a present. For the past decade, every holiday and birthday went uncelebrated. He was touched. “As children we pestered my father year after year for a pet, but he would not give in. I- I have always been rather fond of felines. They carry with them such majesty. Even this one has its charm. Thank you… I will set it amongst my things.” McCree was unsubtly bouncing with glee as his offering was accepted. “Whew, you had me quakin’ in my boots for a minute there! You really like it?” “I do... it is nice to be thought of.” “Yeehaw, that makes my day! Why don’t you give the little fella a name? It’d be a shame not to.” All of Hanzo’s emotions had been magnified, making it difficult to concentrate on the basic assignment. All his life, he made sure his choices were meaningful ones… even naming mock animals. It came to him as he looked up at his beaming benefactor. “I have decided... from this day forth we shall call him _Nozomi._ ” “Sounds dandy. Another Japanese word, huh?” Hanzo could not lie about its meaning even if he wanted to; he knew that Genji could tattle if asked. “Yes… it means “wish”.” Hanzo had thought about the connotations and definitions of the moniker he had chosen. He had evoked its uses as both a verb and a noun… and the sure thousands McCree had made on his stars. 

 

*****

 

Hanzo gingerly held the plush in his hands, wrestling with emotions he thought he was incapable of having. The blush that tinted his face spawned from a manifold. Deception from the letter, appreciation for the man before him.... and the accompanying frustration taking root. McCree would have lost his footing had he not been leaning against the kitchen counters, the chosen name hitting close to home. Seeing Hanzo with his measly gift left him staggered. Like a moth to a flame, he knew that this pining could destroy him… but the reward outweighed the risks. The two men exchanged amiable looks as they simultaneously fought against inner villains. One from the East, one from the West… both clueless as to the other’s secret agonies.


	13. Shelter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! If it's something you'd be interested in, I have a tumblr now! My username is 2for1dragons, just like my handle here. I'm hoping to share my work with more people while accessing the premium fictional content my brain deserves. XD I'll mostly be reblogging OW stuff and posting my updates, but I'd love to get some writing prompts or the like. Thank you for your continued support!

“McCree…” “Yup?” “Must you insist on using so much cheese?” McCree replied with a sassy laugh. “You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me, Hanzo. I swear you’re the _only_ person I’ve ever met that has ever said somethin’ so ridiculous!” As their second week together came to a close, Hanzo had taken to being McCree’s literal right-hand man. He stood next to him in astute observation as he prepared their meals, taking interest in the process and admiring the methodical nature of it all. Hanzo had taught himself the rudiments of cooking in his globe trotting, but for much of his life this taxing duty had been left to his servants at Shimada Castle. Meanwhile, it had taken everything McCree had in him to resist being distracted by his stately supervisor. The devil on his shoulder whispered in his ear with forked tongue, cruelly reminding him of the enticing heat he could feel radiating from the other body... his sentence to suffer in silence as his heartstrings twisted and grew even more tangled. A large quesadilla came to rest on a plate of equal size, sliced and stuffed with chicken, salsa, avocado and the questionable amount of shredded dairy product. As he divvied up the share and took his place across from Hanzo at the table, McCree dotingly asked about Hanzo’s condition. “So, how’s your damage doin’?” “Externally, I am much improved.” Hanzo’s vanity kicked in: “Perhaps a momentary visual would be more explanatory.” Like a peacock spreading open its extravagant tail, he stood up from his chair and slid his right sleeve down to reveal his full chest; pectorals pronounced, obliques imposing. He turned to give a view of where metal had met flesh, the bruise now yellow with a green tinge: a remnant of the ghastly mark that had arisen after the savage strike. McCree felt his stomach rocket up into his throat at this bodily feast for the eyes- this physical presentation did nothing to benefit his sorry plight. Hanzo had not been able to train regularly since the incident, but the evidence of this was far from visible. Those were the same glorious muscles he had briefly massaged when correcting Hanzo on his first day of shooting- an innocent act of mentorship at the time. While indulging in the exhibition, he recalled what had been said to him before his inaugural archery practice. Hanzo’s voice from the past welcomely rang in his head like the toll of a church bell: “an archer’s fortitude lies in the shoulders, chest, back and arms.” In McCree’s eyes, truer words had never been spoken; his vision had been blessed by such statuesque brawn. He could feel his devil’s serrated blade plunge deeper into his heart. He masked his torment with a thumb up and a small-scale grin. “It’s lookin’ good, Hanzo!” “ _Real good…_ ” the devil hissed. Where was his angel when he needed them? Retired, probably.

 

*****

 

Hanzo got himself back in order as the two resumed a late lunch, McCree still reeling internally. As they swallowed their final bites, Hanzo addressed the cowboy in earnest: “McCree?” His eyebrows rose, and his ears perked up at his name. Hanzo continued: “You are aware by now that I have never been one for articulating gratitude… but I assure you that mine is genuine. I attribute my progress to you; you honour me with your decency. Whatever lies ahead… I hope to repay it someday.” McCree melted into a puddle upon such accolades; Hanzo’s compliments were seldom, so this one was historic. He stumbled on his words: “I d-don’t know w-what to say…” He took a courageous breath, right hand on the back of his neck: “‘Cept I wouldn’t go to all this trouble... for someone I didn’t like.” Hanzo felt his imps return as the same altruistic eyes from his bygone dream reached into his core. McCree had been more to him than most he had encountered in his life: supportive, relatable, spontaneous... and above all, he was a constant. But he dared not acknowledge this unremitting virus- Hanzo Shimada had never fallen for another. That would be inconceivable. They were hurtled back to reality with the sound Hanzo cared not to hear- a knock at the door. “I’ll get it” McCree volunteered. Hanzo wanted to stop him right then and there, to belt out a deterrent, but knew that he couldn’t rouse suspicion. He would have to think fast. McCree opened the door, expecting a colleague. “Hey… there ain’t nobody here! If this was Lúcio doin’ the old speed-boost-and-run-away-prank on me again, I’ll wring his neck. Hmm? What’s this now?” The gunslinger bent down to pick up what Hanzo knew was another white envelope. Seeing it in McCree’s hands sent him in a tizzy. He bolted over with a yell: **“PLEASE DO NOT OPEN THAT!”** McCree was confused- “Hey, hey, calm down! There’s no name on it, so why not?” Hanzo understood that his only option was to be cunningly misleading, which would not be pleasant. “It is… private. I have been exchanging correspondence with my brother.” McCree was shaken at the idea: “Wait… **really?!** But you… and him…” “I first received one after we had our… disagreement not long ago. He apologized for reopening old wounds in such a manner. We have agreed to converse peacefully through written messages as opposed to face-to-face contact… until we feel otherwise.” “How come I’ve never seen you writin’ anythin’ then?” “I fashion my replies once I am alone. It allows me to ponder what I wish to convey with my prose. Upon completion I leave it at his door, just as he has done.” Amongst his optimism for the brothers, McCree felt somewhat betrayed. Wistfully, he asked: “I can’t believe it…. why didn’t you tell me?” Hanzo couldn’t stand to hear McCree’s disappointment- this dishonesty was unbearable. He felt as if he was swimming unprotected in piranha infested waters. He wanted more than anything to be able to explain himself… but these floodgates could not be opened. “With all that you have done, I did not want to cause further concern. Please accept my apologies, McCree.” “It’s fine, Hanzo… this is a hell of a big step.” McCree put his free hand on the archer’s shoulder in congratulations. “I’m so proud of you. Just keep me in the loop when you can, okay? We’ve gotta look out for each other, right? Welp, guess this is all yours then- not that I could read it anyway, huh.” Hanzo tried to ward off his horrendous guilt and alarm as he reclaimed the letter for his own. “If you will excuse me… I would like to read this at once.” “You got it. I’ll be here.”

 

*****

 

This time, Hanzo wasted no time in seeing what drivel Talon had for him. Their directives carried no significance- he was irate that they had the gall to contact him again. He tore open the envelope with intensity; inside was the same off-white parchment stained with malignant language. _We attempted to recruit your father once upon a time… but we would settle for the next best thing._ This was no falsehood- he remembered the very day his father told him that he refused an asinine proposition from a third party. Hanzo would not stand for them dragging the esteemed name of Sojiro Shimada through the mud. Despite his unlawful enterprise, his father succeeded by his own merit, with irrefutable dignity. He would continue to uphold the same values to honour his memory. He knew that he would have to take another trip to the range eventually to dispel this affliction… but a more pressing matter arose. His guardians had begun to stir yet again, reigniting his tattoo.

 

*****

 

  
“Look, Hanzo… I wasn't gonna interrupt, but this newspaper ain't exactly rivetin’. Can you please enlighten me as to why you've been pacin’ like a caged lion for the past hour? It's kinda hard to take in this biased, depressin’ media when you can see movement outta the corner of your eye.” Hanzo suspended his subconscious habit to give a quiet answer: “Apologies, McCree- I failed to notice. I unfortunately have much on my mind.” “Anyone could see that from a mile away. Do you wanna talk about it?” “No… this will not be resolved in a timely manner. I do appreciate the offer.” “Well, I won't press you about it. You know what I do in times like these?” Hanzo’s scowl broke with a chuckle: “Drink?” “...Yes, but that wasn't what I was gonna say. Why don't we get outta here and watch a movie at my place? Even if you don't pay attention, at least it'll be white noise. How ‘bout it?” Hanzo wasn't completely won over by the premise, but figured he had nothing to lose. “I suppose.” “Great! Lemme go on ahead and make sure it doesn't look like a bomb went off in there. Don't stand me up, ya hear?” McCree left the paper laid open on the table, scooted through the kitchen and out the door. Hanzo watched as he excused himself to perform his custodial duties. He again found himself wishing that he could reveal all… that they could take it on together. For now, he had to shield McCree with deception. He mentally reassured himself of his chosen path: _“Ignorance is bliss… I have no other choice.”_

Half an hour later, Hanzo found himself entering McCree's passcode and letting himself in unobserved. McCree was making another round to check for mess; he was notorious for littering in his own space. He was rather startled to see Hanzo sitting on his shabby and beaten-up couch. “Wha- how'd you get in here?!” “Oh please, cowboy. Everyone on the base knows your favourite digits.” McCree laughed nervously: “Really? Hey, at least I'm kinda predictable, right?” Hanzo facepalmed: “That is not usually optimal, McCree.” McCree shrugged playfully: “I’m still kickin’, right? Can’t argue that!” “Whatever inspires your confidence.” “Anyway, welcome to my humble abode. Normally I charge admission, but for you- friend discount!” Hanzo scoffed at McCree’s folly: “I never thought that I would earn such prestige!” “It’s a tough selection process, Mr. Shimada. Cutthroat competition!” “I would expect nothing less, of course.” “Movin’ on, my TV’s set up in my bedroom. Bed’s miles better than that old thing- our behinds deserve better than that.” Hanzo followed McCree into the next room, noting the homely array of items distributed around McCree’s living area. He had picked up many a trinket and knick-knack on his travels upon discharge, including unsophisticated novelties. A corner of Hanzo’s mouth upturned with an inward comment: _“Only he would have a cactus print tablecloth and cowboy boot salt and pepper shakers… the fool.”_ The same Overwatch issue residential shell had been spruced up by Western film posters, whiskey bottles (both decorative and in use), horseshoes, and photos. Sweeping landscapes and euphoric ranch hands on horseback were tacked to his walls whilst his picture frames had been morosely turned over. Upon arrival at the makeshift theatre, McCree took off his serape and hat and placed them next to the decently sized monitor on his dresser. He motioned to the quilt covered rectangle they would use as seating: “Front row for the VIP! Don’t worry about messin’ anythin’ up, just get comfy.” Hanzo awkwardly contorted himself onto the bed’s surface, back against the headboard. McCree made small talk as he browsed his DVD collection for a suitable feature: “Seen many movies, Hanzo?” “In my youth, I was extended many an invitation to go to the cinema by a certain someone and his entourage… but never accepted. I had neither the time nor interest.” “I take it you didn’t go out much back in the day? That’s kinda sad.” “We do not choose the burdens we are assigned to carry. I found fulfilment elsewhere… especially in my training.” “You must be chompin’ at the bit to get back to the range, huh?” Hanzo’s sadness was interwoven into his reply: “I concede that I have felt rather deprived as of late… but I cannot compromise my recovery.” “We’ll get you back, don’t worry. You’ll be fightin’ fit before you know it, back and better than ever.” “Patience is a virtue, but I will look forward to that day.” McCree’s search concluded in excitement: “Oh man, “ _Butterfly in the Pass_ ”? I forgot I had this one! A real classic, I think you’ll like it.” McCree popped the disc into the player and flung himself next to the archer with remote in hand, hoping this distraction would suffice.

 

*****

 

45 minutes into the film: the rancher’s daughter had just executed her plan to escape the confines of the ranch to seek adventure out under the wild blue yonder. Hanzo found himself growing drowsy due to a trinity of factors: the bombardment of his worries, the personally unstimulating nature of the film’s plot… and the warmth and ease that he felt in his surroundings. This culminated in his head finding its way onto the shoulder of a flustered McCree, whose pulse went out of control. He dared not move- he wouldn’t have even if he could. _“Stress must’ve got to ‘im, poor thing…”_   McCree said to himself as he stared in yearning. He allowed Hanzo to nap as the picture ran, treasuring this inadvertent physical closeness. He knew that it, much like other pleasures, could not last forever. As the credits rolled, he hesitantly nudged Hanzo. “Hey… sun’s up, buttercup” he murmured softly. Hanzo awoke with a yawn, his troublesome position registering a moment later: “Excuse me, McCree! I did not intend to fall asleep… I was perhaps _too_ comfortable. Forgive my appalling negligence.” McCree wasn’t bothered in the slightest, his devil appeased temporarily. “No need, it’s no skin off my back. Nothin’ wrong with a power nap! I’m sure your bed would do a better job, though. I’ll take you back.” “It is evening… that seems wise.”

As they retraced their steps, McCree felt as if he was walking on a cloud… but Hanzo’s dragons were relentless in their cries. He felt as if he was going to implode from their invasion upon his senses. For his own sanity, he would have to say _something_. The men reached the familiar door, with Hanzo stepping inside. “Guess this is your stop. At least my plan kinda worked, right? You got to shut down for a while” McCree said kindly. “Yes… thank you for hosting.” McCree turned to leave: “Happy trails, Hanzo. See you around.” Hanzo’s hand subconsciously snatched the end of McCree’s serape. He spoke his unspecific plea, restrained: “Please… do not go. We should not part this night.” Secretly ecstatic, McCree was outwardly perturbed: “Wait, why?” “...The dragons stir.” McCree immediately understood the dismay in Hanzo’s voice, and his mindset shifted in turn. He had to make good on his vow… to safeguard his treasure. “Do you have your gun?” “Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be called "Exchange". (WINK WONK THE SWAP IS COMING) Look forward to it! :3


	14. Exchange

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy, I was literally nauseous writing this chapter. XD I had never done a fight scene before so I apologize in advance if things are a bit messy. However, I give myself a pat on the back for going out of my comfort zone! Thank you to everyone who has stopped by my little corner of the internet, I can't believe the hit count! It really helps drive me to continue. <3

The two lay battle ready atop Hanzo’s bed, unable to activate their routine hibernation. Hanzo lay on his left side with knees slightly bent, back facing his guest. The past three hours had been thoroughly miserable. He couldn’t make sense of his guardians’ incoherent wailing, their thunder and lightning rattling and electrifying his bones. McCree found himself reliving his revelatory appointment with Genji- hat upon his face and fidgeting as he competed with the merciless tag team of his lucifer and his nerves. He whispered to his neighbour, greedily wanting to hear his voice if nothing else. “Hanzo… you asleep?” The archer replied, drained. “... Not in the slightest.” “Looks like we’re stuck between another rock and a hard place, huh. I’d call us _solid_ regulars at this point!” Hanzo, too troubled, did not respond to this attempt at humour. Setting his hat aside, McCree hungered to reach past the invisible barrier dividing them. He longed to take Hanzo’s hand, to pull him over into a heartening embrace… but could only offer words and his presence.“How are ya holdin’ up?” The tumult was pushing Hanzo to his limits, but he dared not say such. “... I am weathering the storm.” McCree could not ignore the weariness he heard in those syllables; his curiosity was piqued by the mystical source of said disturbance. “Hanzo, can I ask about your tattoo? I know it’s important to you with the dragons ‘n all… but it seems to bring you nothin’ but grief.” Hanzo was taken aback- no one had ever inquired about it before. He gladly received the nostalgia that temporarily diverted the tempest in his mind. “Since time immemorial, my family has sustained a pact with these sacred spirits. For as long as I can remember, the dragons have been with me. We grew together with the passage of time, each year exceeding the last. When I came of age at 20, I was given this brand to signify the absolute completion of our bond. It is material proof of our covenant, that we are one and the same. Through it, I channel their power. Every son of the clan heads through the ages has gone through this rite. It transcends the individual to unite our bloodline. The clan may be no more… but I am honoured that I could uphold our tradition. That I will never regret for as long as I live.” McCree isolated a key phrase of Hanzo’s speech: “Wait, _every_ son? Does that mean Genji has one too?” Hanzo’s answer was sober: “... Had.” “Oh… gotcha. At any rate, it must mean a lot to you... it’s got quite the history.” McCree lifted his false arm in reflection. “Before I got this thing, I was inked too. Can’t say I miss it, though.” Hanzo showed mild interest: “What was yours?” McCree’s reply was laced with regret: “I had the Deadlock logo. Nothin’ profound about that.” He was surprised to hear Hanzo comment in turn: “That accursed emblem was not a representation of you.” “...You’re right. I lose sight o’ that sometimes. Thanks, Hanzo.” The archer slowly rose to a sitting position, knowing that he could no longer remain idle in the face of the dragons’ indomitable will. He ponderously turned his head to address the gunslinger: “I wish to patrol the grounds… will you accompany me?” McCree’s response was firm as his inner protector took over. There was no way he would let Hanzo be harmed again. “Don't have to ask me twice.”

 

*****

 

Weapons in hand, the duo began their excursion under the daunting cloak of midnight. A half moon hung suspended in the sky, partially concealed by a curtain of wispy clouds that leisurely sailed with the wind. Eventually, they discreetly traversed the path they had walked when Talon first interfered. McCree’s stomach flopped as they went by the very spot where Hanzo was attacked… where Reaper had terrorized them both. He dared not bring to mind the monster he had seen that day- one memory was more than enough. He looked over at Hanzo to see if he would react to the locale, but only glimpsed a poker face accentuated by moonlight. After a few sloping steps, they made it to the intimidating door that stood between them and the airship hangar. They proceeded onward through the personnel opening adjacent to the impenetrable metal. Hanzo felt goosebumps emerge on his bare skin; the hangar was coolly lit, aesthetically matching the climate within. Enclosed in the hollowed rock face, sturdy tarps and cubed storage containers of varying size were the stalagmites of this industrial cave. As they passed underneath the hangar’s immense aviation centrepiece, Hanzo cast out his left arm to stop McCree in his tracks. “Hanzo? Wha-” “ _Quiet_ … we are not alone.” Another character skulked on the bridge to the ship, amused that they had been discovered. “Why hello, gentlemen… I’ve been expecting you.” McCree felt every hair on his body rise- the voice was unmistakable to him. The archer and gunslinger turned to see a tall lanky figure haughtily stationed above them, the harsh angles of her face and robes only slightly diffused by her fiery red hair. McCree did not hold back his animosity: “Well if it isn’t the Irish snake in the grass!” “Oh, Jesse… that’s no way to greet an old friend, is it? Hostility is _so_ unbecoming. By the way, Gabriel sends his warmest regards.” Hanzo could see McCree’s sheer indignation as his fists trembled and eyes welled at this remark. “McCree… you must not allow her words to manipulate you. That would only afford her advantage.” McCree’s bravado shrunk: “Ugh, that _bitch_... I just _know_ it’s all her doin’.” “Remain calm… remember that I am here with you. All she has is poison.” McCree felt his inferno extinguish upon hearing this support from the man he held dear. He hoped that the embers would not be stoked further. Their adversary spoke: “Hanzo Shimada, correct? I see your keen intuition was no fabrication.” She bowed atop her substitute pedestal. “Moira O’Deorain, chief geneticist under Talon. A pleasure to make your acquaintance; your reputation precedes you. A peerless swordsman who slaughtered his own brother and abandoned the kinsmen that venerated him. I must commend you… Genji was a fascinating specimen indeed. His wounds were positively gripping.” Hanzo was unaltered by her loftiness: “If you think you can patronize me with your condescension, you are sorely mistaken. Your caustic satire pales in comparison to the life I have lived since then.”

 

McCree finally chimed in: “If I know anythin’ about you, Moira…. you have no fuckin’ right to comment on people’s wrongdoings. You’re nothin’ but a turncoat sociopath.” Moira let out a cynical laugh: “Such allegations! I see now you’re an advocate for justice and the “greater good”? How adorable. With Talon you could have at least made some sort of impact.” “... Over my dead body. **_Never_**... in this life or any other.” “How is that faring for you, Jesse? I recall you having _both_ arms when we last met…” **“SHUT YOUR DAMN MOUTH! Why are you even here?”** “We brought entertainment for your friends previously… we didn’t want you to feel left out. Won’t you join me, Akande?” “Certainly” a new voice replied. A hulking dark skinned man stepped out from the belly of the ship with an air of superiority, his massive cybernetic gauntlet capturing the attention of the room. “Ain’t you that Doomfist guy? …Shouldn’t you be in jail or somethin’?” McCree mocked. Doomfist’s arrogance was highlighted by his accent: “That’s quite a statement coming from the man who has a 60 million dollar bounty on his head. Fortunately, we at Talon have allies in places high and low.” He paused to change his addressee. “Hanzo, you should consider joining us.... I think we'd see eye to eye.” Hanzo, already sick of Talon’s persistence, would have none of it: “I would have little to gain from such an arrangement.” “A shame… I sense great power in you.” Hanzo replied with ire: “I will _not_ waste my breath on either of you.” McCree grew impatient: “So is it a fight you bastards want, or what? ‘Cause if so, bring it on… we ain’t got all night.” Moira chuckled derisively: “I myself merely came to observe the court jesters. Why should I expend precious energy on such knaves?” “Two against one, you call that a fair fight? Why am I not surprised you’d ditch a teammate.” “Oh, I trust that Akande is more than capable of beguiling you two.” Moira disappeared from view, fading back into the shadows from whence she came. 

 

*****

 

Doomfist leapt down from the bridge, charging forward to smash his gauntlet with a seismic slam into the ground. “Shit, scramble!” McCree dodge rolled out of the way in the nick of time as Hanzo lunged in the opposite direction, splitting them up. Hanzo could feel his agility was lacking, his body not yet fully recovered. He scaled a stack of containers, climbing onto higher ground in the hopes of securing body shots on their enemy. It was unspoken, but neither he nor McCree wanted more blood on their hands. On the ground, McCree attempted to go toe-to-toe with the man thrice his size to little success. Most of his bullets missed their mark due to Doomfist’s unpredictable movements, while those that did were swatted away like puny gnats. Needing to reload, McCree saw an opportune moment (in one of Doomfist’s ascents) to throw a flashbang in his direction. The grenade hit, stunning the brute in mid air whilst its pitcher was able to dart away. “How do ya like me now, big guy?” McCree said boastfully. Doomfist shook his head to collect himself: “You think _that_ will stop me? I take it on the chin. You’re beginning to bore me…”

 

Doomfist turned to glare at the archer on high, who had yet to land a shot on him. Hanzo had been incapable of focus. The weeks of mandatorily postponing his practice along with the compounding stress of his secrets did not assist in guiding his projectiles. Doomfist launched himself into the air to meet Hanzo where he stood- but the archer somersaulted to earth, landing with throes of pain in his chest. He struggled to get to his feet, weakened by the residual damage. McCree, behind a forklift, watched in terror as he saw Doomfist wind up for another descending offensive. **“HANZO, LOOK OUT!”** Without thinking, he sprinted forward and tackled Hanzo to drive him out of harm’s way. They slid a few meters as momentum propelled their tangled bodies. McCree knew that he could not enjoy Hanzo’s skin upon his own in the face of danger, instead offering a brisk apology and a strategy: “Hanzo, are you OK? Real sorry I had to rough you up like that, but I had no choice. Listen… I don’t want your progress goin’ undone. You take Peacekeeper…. give me your bow and arrows.” Hanzo was argumentative through his discomfort: “McCree, are you _insane?”_ “Just trust me, ok? You’ll know when it’s go time.” he whispered intensely.

 

*****

 

The two made the exchange and rose up from the ashes of their shortcomings. Hanzo cleverly chose to use the surrounding objects as blockades. While weaving between obstacles, he was astonished that a few of his bullets had grazed the deep brown exterior of the Talon strongman. McCree, however, was the prey in a risky game of cat and mouse. He only wanted to loose an arrow once he was absolutely sure he could maim the pursuer. In addition, he was unsure if he could handle the Storm Bow’s draw weight; Hanzo’s coaching sessions had only taken him so far. He was quickly worn down by fleeing from the close quarters combat, Doomfist’s hand cannon and gauntlet covering most of the spectrum of range. McCree noticed that his rival was not giving his all… which made the engagement all the more infuriating. It had to end soon. He primed himself for his final push, with one flashbang remaining. The second had been used to draw attention away from Hanzo, still acting covertly. Doomfist’s right arm roared to life as he charged one of his signature rocket punches, the whirring of the mechanisms echoing loudly in the watchpoint’s cavern. McCree ran towards jeopardy, adrenaline surging through him. At the last possible second, he chucked the flashbang. It detonated mere inches away from the hazard’s face. Doomfist was transiently paralyzed, his action cancelled. McCree knew Hanzo had sightlines: **“NOW! LEFT SHOULDER!”** Hanzo fired with unequivocal grit. His round sliced through the air. McCree heaved his nocked arrow towards him, using every ounce of his strength to will the string to bend. The bullet impaled tendons; the arrow speared muscle.

  
Akande Ogundimu was not one to plead for mercy or cry out for help. As scarlet gore seeped out from his wound, all he could do was laugh at his attackers’ chivalry. “We never planned on overstaying our welcome… killing you would have been too easy. Did you really think you could defeat me? No chance- you should have ended me. I might lose…. but _you_ can’t win. Moira?” “Thank you for reminding me of the party favours, Akande. What's this? Looks like one got away from me… beg pardon.” A grand purple sphere, neither solid nor gas, flew directly at McCree. The cowboy could feel the orb forcibly sapping the vitality from his body, compromising his balance and trouncing his faculties. It was a horrible decay, evasion impossible. Hanzo could only watch aghast, from a distance, as a single punch sent his partner hurtling across the metal grotto like a ragdoll. McCree plummeted- collapsing into a heap onto the cold and unforgiving floor. Moira had one last salutation as McCree tasted the salt and iron notes of his own blood in his mouth: “I believe that’s enough cavorting for one day. Oh, and Jesse... do try to preserve your other limbs, won’t you? ... Goodbye.” Hanzo cared not for the fiends’ departure as he dashed to McCree’s side, blame and burden raiding his conscience. As he propped up his demolished defender, Hanzo’s voice did not reveal his true hysteria: “ McCree? McCree! **Answer me!** ” The cowboy sluggishly opened his eyes as he laid a hand over his abdomen, his beard stained red. Hoarsely, he made a lone declaration: “Goddamn… he’s got... one hell of a right hook.”


	15. Adhere

“Keep talking, McCree. Do not stop. Can you stand?” McCree’s consciousness was flickering as Hanzo’s inquiry vibrated through his skull. From his perspective, even Hanzo’s withheld panic was sonorous- an audible reminder that his dragon was alive and well. His delirium did not stop him from genuinely celebrating this fact: “You’re… okay.” Hanzo grew cross as he saw the ruddy fluid of McCree’s noble deeds spill out from his mouth, the dark droplets splattering onto his serape. His rage was twofold: on one hand, for his own timidity, and the other for the fright that McCree had given him. “This is no time to be thinking of others. _Your valor will be the end of you, you quixotic fool!_ ” Weakly, McCree continued to bask in his own triumph: “He didn’t win… I did.” “ _What_?” “I’ve gotta say… I’m surprised my clobberin’ wasn’t sooner. But, you’re safe… that’s my victory.” Hanzo’s lips zipped shut. Here McCree was, bleeding and beaten- prioritizing _his_ well being. He quickly buried his thoughts and gestured towards McCree: “Give me your arm. I will shoulder some of your weight.” Hanzo crouched down to help him up, and McCree did as he was told. Siphoning air through his teeth as they rose, the motion set his midsection ablaze- his chestplate had been cratered. The scenery whirled around him as if his head was being tossed around in a barbarous playground game of tetherball. He could feel a deluge of saliva submerging his tongue as he fought against the horrid urge to vomit. He willed it down his throat as he felt Hanzo’s right arm bolster his lower back. The archer’s handling brought to mind a phrase that he felt was fitting for the situation: “Hey, Hanzo… I actually know a Japanese proverb... believe it or not.” “Really?” Hanzo asked, nonexpectant. McCree’s reply was spirited in spite of stifled voice: “Fall down seven times... rise up eight. Looks like this is just another eight for you ‘n me.” Hanzo was once again amazed by the man in his company: his perpetual kindness, his maddening logic. He was unbelievable in every sense of the word. As they began their pilgrimage back to the base, Hanzo used the sage guidance from his homeland to drive them both forward.

******

McCree’s condition was in gradual decline: his legs shook as he walked, his skin was sticky, and he closed his eyes to ward off the kaleidoscope materializing in his vision. To him, the pair’s amble may as well have been a crossing of oceans; he was the run-down schooner at risk of sinking in the boundless sea, and Hanzo was the anchor preventing him from being swept away by the undertow. Ten minutes felt equivalent to a millenium. As the supports’ wing of the watchpoint came into view, McCree realized through his haze that he was missing something of vital importance: “Hanzo… where’s my hat?” The archer had not noted the missing headwear in his tunnel vision as escort. As they approached the door of their combat medic’s quarters, he gave the ailing cowboy his assurance: “Worry not, I will retrieve it. Right now, we have a greater concern to address.” Hanzo could feel McCree’s body slumping over further as he aggressively struck the barricade bearing the name “Angela Ziegler, MD”. Projecting his voice, Hanzo staunchly called out for her aid: “Dr. Ziegler?” No response. He should have expected as much from a 2 am wake up call. “ _Dr. Ziegler?_ **Please, it is urgent!** ” Seconds passed before he heard signs of life from beyond the door, dragging in Hanzo’s reality. The fair physician appeared in wrinkled nightwear, spooked by her conscripted awakening. Her shock to see the elder Shimada was evident: “Hanzo?! What are you-” With a gasp, her eyes darted to McCree, who was abnormally limber: “ **Jesse?** _Mein Gott_ , we have no time to waste. Follow, _now!_ ” The doctor hastily slipped on her shoes and lab coat before yanking a lanyard off its hook, keys jangling wildly as she closed the door behind her. She briskly walked two doors down to unlock the infirmary; with a click, the entrance was unbolted. The white lights hummed overhead, and a symphony of machines sounded as a smooth palm smacked their switches to the “ON” position.

******

Hanzo stepped in clumsy unison with McCree as he moved the mass of the gunslinger towards the sterile sanctuary. He warily guided McCree onto the examination table, where he lay as still as a mannequin. The woman known far and wide as Mercy promptly went to work with gloved hands as Hanzo watched from the sidelines: his arms were crossed, and his teeth were tightly interlocked. As she checked McCree’s vital signs, Hanzo’s cutting inner voice spoke unto him: _“You have failed yet again.”_ Not long ago, the tables had been turned- he wondered if McCree had felt this forlorn that day. Along with the evidence painted on his paled face, the tactful healer observed that McCree’s heart rate was elevated and his blood pressure was somewhat low. Placing an oxygen mask over her torpid patient’s nose and mouth, the doctor was ever professional as she noticed her beset spectator. She spoke composedly and with compassion: “I’ll have to run a few more tests- but based on his physical symptoms, I believe he’s gone into hemorrhagic shock. He’s lost quite a bit of blood… but this is one of the milder cases I’ve seen. I’ll keep him on IV fluids while I observe his condition, but he may need a blood transfusion.” Her bedside manner naturally alerted her to Hanzo’s rigidity: “Hanzo, he’s going to be just fine… I promise.” Hearing this, Hanzo began to decompress as she went on to gather her tools. She acknowledged the elephant in the room: “Jesse has always had irresponsible tendencies, but I know this was no accident. I need to ascertain the source of the bleeding… will you tell me what happened?” The archer spoke low in his disclosure, voice thick with antipathy: “...Talon is to blame for the events of this night.” The medic did not look up from her palpation of McCree’s arm, but her concern was clearly discernible as she sighed: “Again? I suppose villains don’t take vacations.” She finished inserting a catheter and safely discarded the needle. “I was in here taking inventory during the last incident. One minute I’m counting syringes, the next I’m in the dark fearing the absolute worst. All comms were offline, and I had used my scan card to get through the door that morning.” She attached tubing and affixed a plastic loop to the cowboy’s arm, continuing: “I thought to myself: “What if the team needs me now more than ever? Who can I save with these clipped wings?”. However, things worked out for the best. We got lucky… you included. Jesse was beside himself when he saw you here. He stayed for hours, you know.” Hanzo’s mind generated the tableau, heartbeat pounding in his ears. He could only provide one comment: “... I see.”

Angela sat herself on a stool nearby with her clipboard in hand, preparing to transcribe information onto McCree’s chart. “So what happened this time?” “I was willed to the airship hangar by my guardian spirits… I asked McCree to be my consort. There we were met by two foes- Doomfist and Moira.” Her pen slowed when the latter was mentioned: “ _Moira_... Now that’s a name I haven’t heard in years.” Hanzo was intrigued by her removal: “Were you colleagues?” “Yes, for a time. But, our values sorely clashed; her fundamental principles went against all of my beliefs as a doctor- _especially_ to ‘do no harm’. It’s… a long story. I’ve heard of Doomfist, but that's all.” The dragon listened intently until she finished, and then continued his tale: “She touted and taunted, but Doomfist was the assailant. We made a collaborative effort to weaken him… but one of Moira’s contraptions gave him an opening. McCree was incapacitated. He took a direct blow to the torso from the lout’s enhanced fist. He... previously made sure that I was out of harm’s way.” Sympathetic, Angela looked him in the eye: “I’m so sorry you two had to go through this. Talon will stop at nothing to further their agenda… and Overwatch is still their preferred scapegoat. You did well to bring him as quickly as you did, Hanzo. I’ll be sure to do an abdominal ultrasound.” “I am thankful for your expertise, Dr. Ziegler. My deepest apologies for burdening you at this hour.” “Don’t be silly… I must go where I’m needed.” “I leave McCree in your capable hands. If you will excuse me, there is something I need to find.” She gave him a soft smile: “Of course, my door is always open. You’ll come back to see him, won’t you?” Hanzo stood in the open doorway with his back turned to leave. “I give you my word,” he immediately retorted.

******

“May I join you?” Hanzo detected a unique inflection against his eardrums as he took his first steps out of the infirmary on his way back to the hangar. A hooded silhouette, whose face he surely recognized, joined him in the early deliverance of daybreak. The muted azure of the sky hailed a certain Ana Amari, the legendary sniper of Overwatch’s prime. The owner of the alabaster braid examined him with a sole amber eye: “I didn’t mean to intrude. I couldn’t help but overhear the goings on. Let’s just say I’ve never been a heavy sleeper.” Hanzo was indifferent, his path set: “Do as you wish, Captain.” “And that I shall, Hanzo. Walk with me.” she directed. Side by side they retraced Hanzo’s steps to the scene of the crime; Ana felt inclined to speak to the archer at length. “I have to thank you for taking Jesse to safety. Fareeha may be my daughter, but in a way he also feels like my own.” Hanzo was unaware of their relationship: “I did not know that you two were associates.” The sharpshooter was cheerful as she relived fond memories: “I mentored him for a time while he and Gabriel were still settling their differences. It seems like only yesterday that he was gaping at my every shot, begging and pleading for me to teach him… They grow up so fast. Here we are, almost 20 years later; he certainly doesn’t need my help anymore.” Hanzo maintained his diplomacy, for the former bounty hunter commanded much respect.“You taught him well. His shots find their marks unlike any other I have seen.” She chuckled at the compliment: “I can’t take all the credit; I merely nurtured what was in him all along. He did the rest.” Hanzo became more alert as they reached the hangar door and entered the confounding cavern. He jogged ahead of Ana to reach the spot that was marked by spatters that were once a deep crimson, fixing his gaze on the now blackened blots underfoot. Lost in his thoughts, the sniper calmly went to his side to begin her true line of questioning. With matronly acumen it began: “You care for him, don’t you?” After what seemed like an eternity, Hanzo spoke: “... I was taught to be ever firm in my convictions and unwavering in my opinions- I never go back on my word. I vowed that I would requite his hospitality towards me, and that is what I intend to do.” Ana immediately called him out on his bluff: “When you see the world through a cybernetic eye, you become fluent in the language of the human body. I saw every possible conversation from the end of my rifle: each face with its own dialect. The most deafening speeches are often the ones left unheard, delivered through twitches and tells. That enhancement may be gone… but I didn’t need a scope to recognize the way you looked at him.” The dragon was immovable in both body and mind. Hanzo had not yet admitted to himself that his rapport with McCree had gone past mere amity- he would not start with a stranger. “We are friends… nothing more. I am not sure that I care for your suggestion.” “You don’t have to. All I ask is that you continue to be there for him, Hanzo. Jesse never wanted to be alone. Unfortunately, I know first hand that the weavers of fate can be cruel in their handiwork. One by one his loved ones deserted him… myself included. He needs people, and people need him. We don’t talk as often as we used to, but he came to me the day you were injured. He wanted reassurance that he was doing the right thing, coming into your life. I reminded him that caring for another can be your greatest sorrow... as well as your greatest joy. When I do see him out and about…” She laid a finger on her ‘Eye of Horus’ tattoo, faded with age but ever present- just as she was. “ _This_ eye can see that he is happy- and that is all that a mother could ever wish for.” With her monologue at an end, her cape swished and she turned to leave: “I’ve said what I needed to say. I’ll leave you to your search. If there’s anything I can do to help either of you, seek me out. Look after yourself, Hanzo… I don’t want him to lose you too.” Hanzo’s vocal cords were static as he continued to stare at the macabre splotches, the softest of footsteps behind him ringing in the air.

******

Once alone, Hanzo resumed his hunt for McCree’s irreplaceable hat. It wasn’t long before he spotted the familiar brown brim sticking out from behind one of the many cubes used for storage, contents unknown. He had been too lost in the mental labyrinth formed by Ana to notice that it had landed mere steps away from McCree’s point of impact. He picked it up and brushed it off; in his hands, it looked very much out of place. He thought about the head that it normally sat atop: the tiny widow’s peak, the solid brows, the lines around his mouth that came alive as he laughed at his own dumb jokes. He wanted the hat back where it belonged- there was nothing left there for him to ponder… or so he thought. He saw a glint of a metallic object that had been concealed by a tarp’s corner on the floor, the silver catching the light from just the right angle. _“A chain?”_ he thought. He reeled in the line to retrieve his catch- an open-faced pocket watch. Hanzo inherently knew its owner was none other than Jesse McCree. It had seen better days: the glass had shattered, and the case was dented. There was no way that he could relinquish it in this condition. The hands lay idle, with its movement stalled at 1:24 am. He carefully turned it over in his hands to find an engraving; he recognized that it was in Latin script, but the meaning was beyond him. With this bonus item in reserve, he finally left the hangar in his wake.

******

He returned to a much happier scene in the infirmary- McCree was upright and more or less awake. Swaddled in blankets to keep warm, the gunslinger gave a lopsided smile to his visitor: “Well now… look what the cat dragged in, Doc.” It had only been a short time since he fell quiet, but Hanzo never thought he would be so grateful to hear the cowboy’s voice again. He chuckled in relief: “You should be resting, gunslinger. Your quips can surely wait.” Angela interjected: “I need to step out for a moment, but I’ll be back shortly. Will you two be alright?” “We’ll be fine, Doc.” The doctor excused herself from the premises, leaving the two men alone. The archer restored the cowboy’s crown to its rightful position: “I believe this is yours, is it not?” McCree’s eyes lit up as he saw Hanzo settle in on the stool, his dragon at arm’s length. “Thank you kindly, good sir.” They picked up their chummy jibing where they left off. “In the future, you would do well to keep track of your possessions.” “Okay, dad.” “I am only one year older than you, fool.” “Aww come on… I’m just respectin’ my elders.” “That I can appreciate indeed. How are you feeling?” “Been better... but I guess I’ve also been worse.” McCree sunk back into his pillow, pensive. He closed his eyes, content to feel Hanzo’s presence: “Say, Hanzo.... You ever just want to get away? Pack up everythin’ and go somewhere new? Just pick a destination and start runnin’- somewhere upset can’t reach. No shadows or curses tailin’ ya… just freedom.” Hanzo’s gaze drifted to his kneecaps: “I have wandered aimlessly for a decade… fleeing the pursuit of my life’s concerns has grown too tiresome. “I hear ya. Believe it or not, I know exactly what you mean. You can never forget the day your world stopped turnin’... the second that time left you behind in the dust.” Silence invaded the space between them until the archer found his voice. “...Can it truly resume anew?” “It sure can. I know that now.” The first petal of Hanzo Shimada’s emotions slowly began to unfurl from its bud: “I once thought it impossible. But, this existence… this world… is bearable with you in it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be semi fluffy, I promise :P


	16. Mend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so maybe it didn't turn out as fluffy as I thought... but there's *some*, right? XD

_Euphoria._ There was no other suitable word in the English language to describe how Jesse McCree felt in that fleeting, shining moment born from the words he had just heard. In that small room so often full of ailments, there were none to be found. Contact- as he reached out to place his hand atop Hanzo’s, McCree felt as if they were the only ones in the world. There were no heroes, no villains, no doctors or patients… just _them_. He knew that Hanzo’s words were most likely purely platonic, but nevertheless his pain was briefly overridden by joy. Hanzo looked at the false hand that laid on his own. What he used to believe was a cold and lifeless imitation of something so human… was warm, comforting even. He allowed it to remain as McCree turned his head to speak further. As the gunslinger found the archer’s eyes with his own, he made a statement for the present whilst desirously thinking of the future: “Thank you for being here with me, Hanzo. ...There’s no one else I’d rather have by my side.” Hanzo Shimada had tried to evade so much in his years… but his heart and mind could not escape the boundless reach of change. With McCree’s words and touch, Hanzo found himself in what his countrymen call _ukiyo_ : he was living in the moment, detached from all the bothers of his life. All he could feel was the gravity of McCree’s orbit pulling at him. Not since his youth had he deeply and fiercely cherished another human on this planet of theirs; for the man who felt himself irredeemable, perhaps this was the start of a new beginning.

*****

Dr. Ziegler’s cerulean eyes saw her patient and his visitor intently staring at each other, as if they were not expecting her return. So omnipotent was their regard, she felt as if she was intruding as she stepped through the door: “I’m ba- oh... I hope I’m not interrupting.” Embarrassed, McCree retracted his hand at breakneck speed as if he had come in contact with scalding water. He was flustered by the interruption of their intimate instance: “N-Not at all, Doc. Just uhh… catchin’ up, is all! We’re good, right Hanzo?” The archer was still dazed from the momentary glimpse of his soul that he offered to McCree. He gave a dreamy reply as he reflected on the previous minutes: “Yes… fine indeed.” As the wall clock tick-tocked its way to 4 a.m., the good doctor could see that Hanzo’s energy was waning: “Jesse, I want to keep you here for the remainder of the day to observe your condition. I’m confident that you’ll make a timely recovery, but I never take chances when it comes to people’s health. Hanzo… why don’t you go and get some rest? You’ve been through quite the ordeal.” McCree chimed in soon after: “She’s right, partner. Go get some sleep. ...Don’t worry about me, OK?” Angela gave Hanzo a gentle reassurance: “You can come back anytime. I’ll keep an eye on him.” Hanzo silently excused himself from the infirmary, leaving the cowboy with the combat medic. As she put pen to paper a few minutes later, McCree let out a sigh that was far from reticent. Angela Ziegler had a number of degrees under her belt, but all of her medical knowledge was irrelevant in the face of it. Based on what she had seen that morning, she knew that his exhale was a telltale symptom of lovesickness. She’d known McCree for years- they had met when she was a student of Overwatch and he a greenhorn in Blackwatch. She hugged the clipboard against her chest to speak to him not as a physician, but as a friend: “He’s special to you, isn’t he?” Sighing for a second time and staring at the ceiling, McCree knew he couldn’t lie to her. “Heh… you don’t know the half of it, Doc."

*****  
 

 _Hitori._ Alone; without another. Hanzo wearily returned to his quarters after what seemed like days on the go without respite. Just a few months ago, this was his hermit fortress- where solitude reigned, and seclusion was his aide. Now, in his tiny bedroom, the empty space around him was oddly inert. He had uninstalled this feeling from his programming in his wanderings, for there was no one to miss. With this barrier shattered, he internalized this lost fragment of his emotional spectrum. For the first time in ages, Hanzo Shimada felt the acute sting of loneliness. He found himself lying in the same spot as before the incident, only this time he knew the other half of the mattress was unoccupied. He hated himself for allowing such disaster to befall them… by allowing his walls to come down. His younger self, so sovereign and benumbed, would have eschewed him without a second thought. Stiff, he rolled to the other side in an effort to get comfortable. He suddenly remembered the recent addition to his bookshelf; two plastic eyes stared back at him. Seeing _Nozomi_ watch over him and detecting a vague remnant of tobacco on the sheets reminded him of something McCree had said to him so many mornings ago: “Hey, Hanzo? You know it ain’t illegal to have emotions, right? We’re only human…” Oh how many times he had neglected that undeniable fact. With the cowboy’s triad in play, he was able to sleep- for a spell. Unfortunately, his biological clock awoke him at 0600 hours; a nap would have to suffice. A shower revitalized his body, but it could not derail his train of thought. His encounter with Ana had stayed with him, and ever since he found the pocket watch, his curiosity regarding its origins could not be quelled. Out of the two candidates he could speak to about McCree, he of course elected to reunite with the Egyptian markswoman. He had not communed enough with other Overwatch members to know her usual haunts, but he knew that she was also an avid drinker of tea. As he left his lodgings, he suspected the area around the commissary would be his best bet.

*****  
                                   

Sure enough, he spotted his target sitting alone at one of the many stainless-steel round tables that dotted the floor of the cafeteria. Her eye was closed as she savoured the liquid that occupied her youthful and exuberant teacup: light pink with magenta morning glory blossoms and their verdant leaves. It was paired with the bone china teapot that sat nearby, complete with lustrous gold rims. As he made his quiet advance, Ana’s honed hearing identified her caller by his steps. Ever sightless, she greeted him: “We meet again so soon, archer?” Hanzo couldn’t deny this finesse: “Impressive, Captain. There are scant who can detect my approach.” Revealing her eye, she chortled: “When it comes to killing or being killed, it becomes second nature. Those in my line of work have no choice but to be mightily observant- I’m sure you can relate. Sit, won’t you?” Hanzo did as he was told, pulling up a chair across from his superior. She set her cup upon its saucer: “I take it you considered my offer?” The dragon’s tone was businesslike as he slid the mangled, mysterious timepiece towards her: “...What can you tell me about this?” Ana had to pause to collect her thoughts: “I never thought that I would see this again… especially out of Jesse’s possession. It's remarkable how even the smallest items can have expansive backstories. This may take a while… do you drink earl grey?” Hanzo abstained, his preferences too strong: “No, thank you. I am inclined towards green varieties.” “Really? I’m quite partial to _hojicha,_ myself. But we can talk tea another time... the past takes precedent.”

 

Ana Amari folded her timeworn hands in her reminiscence: “I remember my first mission briefing as Overwatch's second in command like it was yesterday. Commander Morrison ended the conference with three words I had never heard before- _‘usque ad finem’_. Afterwards I went up to Jack to ask him what they meant. He said that it was his personal motto… Latin for 'to the very end'. As time went on he, Gabriel and I incrementally spent more time together. Yes, it was out of necessity to coordinate operations but... we also developed an amazing camaraderie. Eventually Gabriel and I decided to follow Jack’s lead, choosing our own words to live by as we served. Mine? _‘Familia supra omnia’_ , which is 'family over everything'. Family cannot be solely defined by the blood that courses through you… and so it remains my mantra to this day. Gabriel’s was _‘audere est facere’_ , 'to dare is to do'. Considering the ideals and actions of his team, it was an eerily perfect choice in retrospect. Five years to the day Jesse was inducted into Blackwatch, Gabriel came into my office. He said he needed help with something important...”

 

*****

 

“Hey Ana, you got a minute? Jack’s out so I thought I’d stop by.”

“Ah, Gabriel! For you, of course I do. How can I help?”

“Listen- as much as the whole ‘save the world brigade’ is alive and thriving at the moment, you and I both know that it can’t last forever. The kid just hit a milestone today; I wanted to get him something meaningful… something he can take with him after the curtain call.”

“That’s very sweet, Gabriel. He certainly looks up to you… more than you know. He doesn’t have a bad thing to say about his commander.”

“That Jesse... I can’t believe he’s the same ingrate I picked up in Arizona back then. When I first saw his sorry ass, I could’ve clobbered the brat then and there. I know he had it rough before we picked him up… I want him to know how proud I am of the man he’s become.”

“Your bond is one that can’t be described in mere words. He feels like your own, doesn’t he?”

“... Don’t **_EVER_** tell him I answered yes to that question. I’d never hear the end of it, Ana. We don’t need to add dad jokes to his routine!”

“For all our sakes, your secret is safe with me! So, what’s that you’ve got there?”

“I wasn’t really sure what he would appreciate, but a pocket watch seems like something that would cater to that weird cowboy obsession of his. It’s vintage _and_ useful, at least. I want to get the back engraved. I thought of you, Jack and I... how we chose those Latin phrases way back.”

“Time is forever, Gabriel. I’m sure Jesse will love it. Do you have any ideas so far?”

“He’s told me before that he used to stargaze every night. And, well… I want him to know that all the shit that went down in Deadlock doesn’t mean jack. Time and time again, he's proven that he’s a _damn_ good person- a success story, if I ever saw one. He’s tried my patience more times than I can count… but he’s also made me a better man. Who he is now is more than enough for me.”

 “That’s beautiful. He surely has grown into an upstanding gentleman. Quite the charmer, too.”

“Oof… that was a little too mushy, though. I think I’m making _myself_ sick.”

“Ever the class act, Gabriel... Let’s see what we can come up with.”

*****

“Together we researched, and ultimately Gabriel chose the words you see here. But, he didn’t want to confer it until their final mission.” She subconsciously touched her eyepatch, sorrowful: “I learned of it much later. At the time, my own struggles were only just beginning… but I digress. It wasn’t meant to be their last; Blackwatch was sent to investigate damage to the fusion core of the Nigerian omnium. Sources tipped them off to bandits breaking and entering into the factory, and that a larger conspiracy may be afoot. It turns out that the hooligans were being paid by ignorant, disgruntled government officials that had no clue as to the potential of nuclear fallout. Inside, the omnics were alerted to their presence; all were overwhelmed and driven out. The bandits were executed, but the team escaped with their intel. The mission was successful to an extent, but Gabriel knew that Blackwatch was in jeopardy. Their suspension had only just been lifted- the UN had never been lenient in their surveillance or reprimands since the Venice incident, and innocents had been killed to boot. I’m sure he gave this to Jesse once they were safe. Apparently, that was three weeks before the explosion at Swiss HQ… it’s almost as if Gabriel knew that his life’s concerto had reached its finale. You know the rest; once the obituary was read and the tombstone erected, Jesse resigned and left it all behind.”

 

Hanzo had been stone-faced as Ana spoke, hanging onto her every word. It was surreal to listen to; McCree’s past was equally as complex as his own. The dragon finally asked his burning question: “So what exactly is the meaning of this inscription?” Hanzo heard love in Ana’s voice as she read Gabriel Reyes’ paternal encouragement out loud: “‘ _Esto quod es, per aspera ad astra’_. It means 'be what you are, through hardship to the stars'.” Upon hearing the crack of the code, Hanzo knew he had to return the watch as soon as humanly possible: “I need to see to it that it is repaired at once. Do you know of anyone capable?” Ana refilled her cup and took a long sip before answering: “He may give you grief at first, but I would ask Torbjörn. Hanzo, this pocket watch is one of Jesse’s favourite things… see that it is restored, will you?” Hanzo hesitated with his next sentence: “... May I ask what else he treasures?” Ana smiled; she wasn’t throwing him a single bone: “I think it would be good for the two of you to discuss that. I hope my blathering proved somewhat insightful.” “I sincerely thank you for your time, Captain. I… admire your eloquence in the face of quarrelsome memories.” “'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all', as they say. Without dissonance, there would be no melodies." She lifted her cup to send him off: "Cheers, Agent Shimada.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates may come a bit more slowly unless I can sort out my plot crises :P Thank you so very much for your continued support and readership!


	17. Fit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all, so sorry for the wait! I wish I could say I was on vacation or something cool like that, but I actually had a bout of writer's block... It was a major bummer, I thought it would be months. Luckily, my faucet of inspiration has started running again- I actually had to stop myself at the end of this one to save main content for the next chapter! Anyway, thanks so much for sticking around and hopefully this offering is satisfactory. :)

Cramped... sweltering... untidy; this trio of adjectives captured the essence of Torbjörn Lindholm’s workshop flawlessly. Stifling locale aside, Hanzo had heard that while he was a passionate and inventive engineer, the elder Lindholm was crotchety and regrettably prejudiced. Torbjörn had served Overwatch for years with his unrivalled craftsmanship, though he was equally renowned for his fierce temper. As Hanzo maneuvered his way through the glorified blast furnace, past infinite bits and bobs and projects of varying completion, he knew that he did not want to make his stay an extended one. He found the Swede muttering to himself while minding a forge reminiscent of medieval times: hearth hosting a stalwart flame, molten metal flowing inside the mechanism. All manner of hammers, tongs and chisels lined the surrounding walls. Prompted by the unpleasant feeling of sweat beginning to soak through his clothes, Hanzo called out to him. “Mister Lindholm, I presume?” The small man looked over his shoulder; his beady eye scrutinized his caller. He spoke gruffly, per usual: “Aye, yer looking at ‘im. Who’s asking?” “I am Hanzo Shimada. I do not believe we have met. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” Torbjörn’s response to Hanzo’s introduction was snide: “Oh, so yer Robo-boy’s brother then… hmph. Heard y'were a shut-in. Did ye finally come to mock the common folk with yer high and mighty ninja nonsense?” Ana had been fair in her tip-off; the builder was ornery indeed. Hanzo ignored the surly speech to see to the matter at hand: “I am here on personal business. I have something in need of repair and I was advised that you were the most capable.” Torbjörn turned around, putting his hand and claw-like substitute on his hips in a huff: “Oh really? And what makes ye think _I_ would do _you_ a favour? I’ve heard about ya… yer entitlement card won’t work here.” The fact that Hanzo had to look down on Torbjörn in the most literal sense was not assisting in slowing the escalating hostility. Denigration aside, Hanzo opened his hand to reveal the item in question to show the irritable engineer why he was here. The cowboy flashed through his mind and the back of his right hand tingled as he quietly said: “...It is not for me.”

 

*****

 

After taking a few seconds to examine the contents of Hanzo’s palm, Torbjörn grumbled and took the pocket watch: “...You’d better have a good story.” Hanzo offered an abridged version of the night prior, supplying only pertinent details: “McCree and I were involved in an altercation last night whilst patrolling the base. He was grievously injured, and his pocket watch also sustained some damage, as you can see. I have come to learn that it is one of, if not his most cherished belonging… a parting gift from the Blackwatch commander. I came to you in confidence to see it restored.” Torbjörn Lindholm was not so easily won over, but he could not refute this display of solidarity; his time in both the Ironclad Guild and Overwatch had taught him the value of trust and companionship. Hanzo saw Torbjörn’s stout fingers fiddle with the watch in his hand as he processed the new information: “Well? Can it be refurbished?” “Yer a lucky one.  I just so happen to have some... *ahem* free time at the moment. I’ll see what I can do.” Hanzo watched as Torbjörn wandered over to a cupboard and then to one of his work benches. Curious, Hanzo asked: “What are your tools?” “ _This_ is a rawhide hammer, and _that’s_ a polished stake, both for the dent. These should get the bugger out easy.” After setting aside the watch face and movement, he set the domed steel stake in its holder and used his 'claw' to secure the silver case over its surface. He carefully hammered the area around the dent with rapid, minute taps. Within moments the defect was removed, delighting the dwarf: “Now _that’s_ more like it! Nothing I couldn’t handle, of course.” He paused to smooth his flaxen facial hair as he pondered the second task. Hanzo heard him mutter beneath his breath: “Hmm… I may need to break out my jeweller’s kit for this…” “Jeweller? Have you dabbled in jewelry making?” Blush began to color Torbjörn’s cheeks. “When I wanted to propose to my Ingrid, I looked everywhere for a blasted ring. They were all no-good hunks of _junk_ … so I made one myself.” In that instant, Hanzo's mind transported him back to his kitchen table on that fateful day. He would not soon forget the first meal McCree had made for him: “You took it upon yourself to honour her in such a way... that is quite commendable. Actions truly can speak louder than words, it seems.”  Torbjörn stormed away with stodgy legs: “ _Bah_ , enough of this mushy stuff already!”

 

He returned with a small basket in hand, speaking as he worked on the watch further: “This reminds me... I bought Reinhardt a watch for his 50th; honking thing, it was! Could’ve served a full course meal on it. 'Cost me a pretty penny, too. It lasted a whole _three_ days before he squashed it with his mammoth-sized keester. Forget about bulls in china shops- _ye can’t take 'im anywhere!”_ He sighed as he slowly pried away the broken crystal from the watch face: “That blowhard never looks before he leaps, goes off like a racehorse with blinders on. Always going on about that ‘honour and glory’ nonsense, that one… so full of hot air, he could fill a blimp.” He measured the diameter of the pocket watch with a caliper before continuing: “I’m sure he’s quick to call me a stubborn and nagging old goat, but he’s no spring chicken himself.” His rant came to an end as he pulled out a diminutive flat head screwdriver to clean the bezel: “You’d think we were oil and water the way we carry on… but the truth is, I wouldn’t change a thing. Loyal as an overgrown mutt, that one. Through it all, he’s had my back. I fixed the watch without a peep. Lucky for you, the original crystal was the exact size you need... and I ordered two replacements by mistake. I _never_ throw away anything that could be useful.” Hanzo held his breath as Torbjörn applied epoxy before lowering the pristine crystal into its new home. The grumpy Swede finally looked up at Hanzo as he pressed the pieces together: “ _Hanzo,_ was it? I never got to know McCree very well, but I know he’s no bad seed. If there’s one thing I do know, it’s that good help is hard to find these days.” He waddled over to place the pocket watch in the dragon’s clutches, a tad bashful: “So… keep up yer lookout, will ya? I’ll give ye credit… this time. Since I’m no watchmaker, I can’t say if it’ll ever tick again- but it’s looking pretty good.” Hanzo was stunned at Torbjörn’s change of heart, but was appreciative all the same: “I sincerely thank you, Mister Lindholm. I suppose I must also credit Sir Wilhelm, in a sense. You have done a fine job. I will have no qualms in gifting it back to its owner.” “I do what I can. Now scram… he’ll be missin’ it.”

 

*****

  
  
“Couldn’t stay away, huh?” For once Hanzo was not bothered by the cowboy’s friendly pestering, responding with covert sass of his own: “I just so happened to be in the area.” McCree, despite standing in a flimsy hospital gown with an IV still attached to his arm, let out a hearty laugh: “ _Area, my ass!_ Speakin’ of, I was startin’ to lose feelin’ in mine; oof, not fun, lemme tell ya.” He gave Hanzo a grateful once over, a fuzzy feeling welling within: “There’s only so many state capitals I can name and ceiling tiles to count in this place. There’s 47 of ‘em, by the way. Anyway… I’m mighty glad you came.” Loosening his protective grip on the pocket watch, Hanzo was pleased to see McCree back to his old self. He had learned so much about him in the past cycle of day and night. His portrait of McCree was ever changing, the revisions were moment to moment. The hands of this particular watch may have stalled, but they were still making their rounds- each second a brushstroke adding to the convoluted canvas. No one could say if it would ever be complete, but it would be a masterpiece all the same. “It is good to see you well, McCree. However, I came with a purpose; I have something else that belongs to you.” Finally, the time came to remit the gift that carried with it so much validation. Hanzo walked over to place the watch directly in McCree’s original hand; a spark flew as skin touched skin. As McCree realized what Hanzo had delivered, he unknowingly reached for the side where it normally sat. His false hand only met a cloth covered thigh. His eyes were steeped with emotion as all he thought was lost had been found: “Oh, Hanzo… I’d said my goodbyes. I thought he… I thought it was gone.” “I recovered it at the same time I located your hat, but it was in poor condition. To return it to you in such a state would have been inconsiderate… I had Torbjörn revive it. He said that it may no longer have purpose as a timepiece, but I know that it is worth more than its function.”

 

*****

 

McCree had no words left; the man of action went against everything he had promised himself _not_ to do... by wrapping his arms around Hanzo in response. Hanzo was rendered immobile as the substantial limbs pinned his own to his sides. In the thirty seconds he was held there, he tried to remember the last time another body had pressed against his so willingly. His father had never been demonstrative; it hurt to think that the only embrace he could remember was that of the man he could no longer be in the same room with without crumbling. This was not nearly as torturous… he could possibly get used to the shared warmth and the sense of security that came with the pressure. McCree removed his restraints, not realizing the length or intensity of his impulse in his thankfulness. He pulled himself together while his devil let his pulse run wild: “S-Sorry Hanzo… Didn’t mean to strangle ya like that. It’s just… What you did means a hell of a lot to me. You can take my hat, take my gun, take my name- but this? You’d have to pry it outta my cold, dead hands.” Hanzo cleared his throat, upholding his dignity: “People say that in life, it is best to keep pushing forward… but I am inclined to believe that the past will always be of substance. It would be negligent to cast aside what has shaped you into who you are. I myself have yet to follow my own words… but I am glad that I could be of service to you.” “Hanzo Shimada, you’re a damn hypocrite... but a smart one, too. Y’know, I read somewhere once that the brain ties memories and feelings to sights, sounds and smells.” Hanzo teasingly responded, “y _ou_ read a scientific article for _leisure_? Who _are_ you?” “Gimme a break, man… it was kinda interestin’!” “I must admit… I would be much more rested had there been a storm this morning.” Noting an opportunity to spend more time with his favorite subject, McCree eagerly stated, “you can’t argue the fact that we both need some cheerin’ up. I don’t think the Doc will be back for a while and I’m goin’ stir crazy in here. Why don’t we think about happier times with that article stuff? Let’s make like trees- we could use some sap in our lives. So, uhh… wanna start? Storms, right?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you soon! Thanks so much again for reading :3 (I was so worried I was rusty after 2 weeks, haha)


	18. Break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spared you from total angst.... this time XD

McCree’s stay in the infirmary had been upgraded; he made himself comfortable as he lay on the adjustable hospital bed. He smiled as he raised it to his liking: “Hoo boy, I love this thing. I wish _our_ rooms had these- I’d never leave!” Hanzo rolled his eyes as he parked himself on the nearby stool yet again: “Perhaps it is for the best that we have _basic_ bedding, gunslinger. You can hardly wake on time as it is!” McCree laughed, not bothering to dispute the claim: “Yeesh, we _both_ can’t be early birds, Hanzo. Right then, I think I’m set here. Actually, before you start, I’ll make you a promise.” The cowboy raised his left hand in an impromptu oath: “I, Jesse McCree, do solemnly swear to be a good listener... and to not laugh at _anythin’_ Hanzo Shimada says in this room. ‘Can pay’.” Hanzo was forced to cover his mouth to stop any inhuman noises of amusement from leaking out. He removed his hand to reveal a fragile smirk: “Maybe save the _kanpai_ for your whiskey instead, cowboy. However, I welcome your pledge... thank you.” “ _Dammit._ One o’ these days I’ll get a word right!” McCree graciously looked Hanzo in the eye; he could appreciate how difficult it was for the dragon to open up: “Hanzo... I know you don’t like to talk about yourself much, so I thought that might make ya feel better. Don’t worry, nothin’ you say will change a thing between us. But that’s enough outta me, though. I’m all ears, always.”

 

*****

 

“I suppose our first topic is sounds, then?” Hanzo closed his eyes as he imagined the darkest of clouds rolling in above him. The world grew dim in their passage, while the atmosphere teemed with electricity. So real was his visualization that he could feel the heavy rain pelting against his skin. The millions of droplets soaked him to the bone, each one temporarily washing away his sins. As the storm broke, he spoke of it fondly: “There are countless who fear the coming of storms, but I am not among them. I am certain it is due to the influence of my spirit dragons.” The archer closed his eyes again as he returned to his nirvana. McCree was captivated by the peacefulness he could see in Hanzo’s face as he communicated his comfort: “They surge through me as they revel in their element, galvanizing my every nerve… _that_ is when I truly feel alive. Lightning flashes, precise in dazzling strikes. Thunder booms, wholly domineering in its rumbles. In the midst of the untamed chaos and turbulence that troubles the masses… that is where I find my tranquility. I know when a thunderstorm has passed during my slumber; I awake invigorated, without fail. Even in sleep, it brings me utmost calm.” The deluge receded as the moistureless room came back into view. Hanzo shifted his gaze to the ground, unaccustomed to opening himself to others: “I hope that that was a satisfactory explanation for my earlier statement.” The infatuated spectator blinked twice in rapid succession; McCree’s mind was filled with things he would never say. To get through a straightforward conversation about favourites without so much of a mention of the bowman? The unthinkable had to be done. He had already decided that the throbbing in his heart... would be his alone.

“Your lizards really are somethin’, huh? Can’t imagine what it must feel like. Wish I had a cool power.” “One does not need ancient spirits to be remarkable, McCree. There was once a time when I struggled to control them… no one else knows of this.” The cowboy screamed internally as he pressed for more: “You serious? What happened?” Hanzo meekly recounted his lapse in perfection: “As I grew older, my father’s expectations of me increased exponentially. I had just turned 15; my prescribed academia and training regimens were gruelling indeed. I was of course already accustomed to his notions. His word was law… my life as I knew it.” He couldn’t look at McCree as he said his next words: “But this particular year was different. I was, for the lack of a better word, stressed. Whether it was biological or psychological, I will never know. For months, I lived in constant fear of losing myself to the dragons’ dominion. They fed on my discord and ran wild, disrupting my custom. They would not be silenced; I was so... _ashamed._ It was not until my father expressed his gratification with my efforts that I regained my command.” The archer sighed, sensitive to his past. He managed to rummage through his baggage to allow a slight grin: “Another sound I cherish to this day is his laughter. Its rarity increased until it ceased to exist... but it was a hallmark of my earliest years, of simpler times. To me it was the sound of inclusion, of family… of home. Dare I hear it, even now.” “You still have a chance to get those back, Hanzo. Genji’s just a letter away, remember?” Hanzo’s heart skipped a beat; he had completely forgotten about his fantastic fib. He gave the tiniest nod as McCree sustained his support: “I always thought you were brave… but I _know_ you are now. Folks who bring their catastrophes to show and tell are the most courageous to me.”

 

*****

 

 _This is the perfect opportunity. You could tell him everything._ Their moralities spoke in unison; the words rang true for both men. The archer sat with balled fists as he briefly entertained the thought of coming clean. He looked at the reassuring face next to him, torn. He realized just how much he was truly hiding away from those kind eyes; the Talon letters, the staged brotherly ceasefire, the fact that McCree himself had become the closest thing he had to a sanctuary. Hanzo did not want to make waves… he couldn’t risk a potential tsunami. McCree curled his toes as he tried to mute the wicked beast of his conscience. What he wouldn’t give to be able to speak from the heart, honest and unafraid. He had no shortage of tacit praises for the elder Shimada even though his soul was heavily shackled, and his tongue was tied in intricate knots. McCree allowed himself one private comment: _“Sounds? I fall for every way that you say my name.”_ Although the pair’s fuses were growing shorter by the day, there would be no confessions of any sort this afternoon.

McCree evicted his heckler to advance their discussion: “They say that good things come in threes; got one more?” As he finished his question, he couldn’t ignore Hanzo’s furrowed brow: “Hey, you ok?” Hanzo took a deep breath as he tried to quash his conflicted state: “...I am fine, McCree. It is strange speaking so candidly, that is all.” “You’re doin’ great. Say what you like.” “Well... there was one particular bird that used to frequent a tree by my castle quarters- a _meijiro._ I looked forward to his performances; he warbled without pause, ever in tune. Then he would fly away to join his flock, so free and unbound. I suppose that I lived vicariously through him, in a way. While I do savour silence, I admit that I take pleasure in birdsong.” McCree was demure when it was his turn to share: “Yours are all so meaningful, Hanzo… you _sure_ you wanna hear mine? They seem kinda lame now.” Hanzo was firm in his response: “I do, without question. You politely listened to my tales… and now, I wish to hear of yours.” As the dragon’s spell took hold, the cowboy gulped as he began: “My first two are pretty basic: horses gallopin’ and the clinkin’ of ice as it hits my glass. The last one? Back in the day, we’d have a bash every Thanksgiving. The whole gang came together to celebrate at the Swiss HQ for one night only; drinks flowed, and bellies filled to burstin’. Some people even brought instruments for entertainin’. I remember one year Reyes got so buzzed, he had the balls to whip out his acoustic guitar. I prepared to laugh my ass off!” He pulled out his pocket watch, speaking to it as if its face was that of a human: “He wasn’t that great… but he got the entire room to sing. It was a choir of everyone I loved, their voices as one. I’ll never forget it. Sure words alone are mighty, but once you add a tune? Hell, that’s somethin’ else.” Like a diligent student in a lecture hall, Hanzo was taking detailed notes on the speaker for later review. He spoke as sensitively as he could: “That was not ‘lame’ in the slightest. Music is a deeply personal form, its impact universal. Perhaps someday your choir will sing once more.” McCree sighed and shook his head: “I’d like that. But, even if it was a one-off, I still have my memory.” “That you do, for all time.”

 

*****

 

“So, Mister Shimada, lemme ask you this: what makes those peepers of yours light up?” Long had McCree wondered what those dusky eyes had seen besides sorrow and death. As they transitioned to their next theme, his devil forcibly interjected: _“Sights? God, even with the shitty lightin’ in here… I can’t look away. I’m yours.”_ His nails dug into his palm as he waited for Hanzo to deliver his answers. Hanzo interlocked his fingers as he pondered: “My tastes seldom stray from the minimalistic; I have previously mentioned my regard for barren trees and their casts. The mountain peaks framed by my window also come to mind. A third… hmm.” McCree could almost see gears turning as Hanzo went back in time in his search for a warm memory. “In Japan, there is a traditional festival held every summer called _obon._ We honour our ancestors, commemorate their sacrifices, and acknowledge their ongoing presence in our lives. To my family, it was especially imperative that we participated. Every year we would infallibly venture to our ancestral burial site, as many others did. Scores of kimonos and yukatas as far as the eye could see, prismatic in colour and varied in ornament… extraordinary.” “A starry sky ticks all my boxes… but I can’t say no to sunsets or sand dunes, either. Guess that’s just the New Mexico boy in me. You can take the cowboy outta the west, but you can’t take the west outta the cowboy.” McCree threw back his head in laughter as a humorous thought occurred to him: “Hey, you think _I’d_ look good in a kimono?” The archer took a playful dig at the gunslinger: “Who can say? But, I am sure that with the most _impeccable_ fabric, even _you_ could pull off such distinguished apparel.” “Rude. I’d look _damn_ fine and you know it!” “Ah, but you forget your competition, McCree. A Shimada is _never_ second best.” McCree’s devil cruelly whispered to his heart: _“…Don’t I know it.”_

Hanzo was enjoying their chat; it was outlandish that he felt such serenity. There was so much that he wanted to say to the man by his side, but he couldn’t possibly fathom how. How could words be so essential… yet so meaningless at the same time? His voice was solemn as he realized that their parley would soon come to an end: “I believe scents should close out our discussion, correct?” McCree scrunched up his face as he held back a yawn: “Yup, one more and then we shut down this rodeo. The doc gave me some morphine earlier…. must be kickin’ in. Want me to go first this time?” “No, my catalogue is succinct. The aromas I fancy are of wood, the earth after rainfall, and….” “ _And?_ ” A faint rouge could be seen gracing the dragon’s cheekbones as he hesitated to mention the final entry of his list. He was intent on McCree keeping his vow from afore: “If I so much as hear a single utterance from you… _you will pay dearly._ ” The cowboy was equally as serious: “Hanzo, I meant every word I said. Cross my heart and hope to die.” Hanzo held his head high and folded his arms as if trying to constrain his inhibition: “I am rather fond of… baked goods. _It is a vice I care not to have!_ ” McCree so wanted to ‘aww’ in adoration at Hanzo’s discombobulation, but instead made an amatory offering: “You name it, I’ll make it for ya.” The bowman raised an opaque eyebrow in response to this bait: “…I will consider it.” Entertained, McCree’s grilling went on: “I knew you couldn’t say no! Come on, what’s your favourite kind? Bread? Pastries? Could it be… tarts?” Hanzo was loath to reply, almost inaudible: “Cakes.” “I never in a million years would’ve guessed that you had a sweet tooth!” “I blame my brother… every birthday he brought me a confection from the bake shop in town. They proved to be diabolically addictive.” “Which one sent your taste buds to heaven?” Hanzo could see the generous slice set in front of him by a smiling face, a sole candle casting a glow on his then adolescent silhouette. A song was sung as a life was celebrated. A wish was made as a flame was snuffed out. That was so long ago, before reality’s rude awakenings. Longingly, the archer said: “An _exquisite_ strawberry shortcake.” McCree knew what he needed to do: “Done. Once I’m tip-top, you’ve got one with your name on it.” “That will not be necessary, McCree. I-” “No arguin’. You scratch my back, I scratch yours. Least I can do for makin’ you worry.” Hanzo was swayed but issued a friendly challenge: “Very well… but I am quite discerning in my desserts. I am not a merciful judge.” Self-assured, McCree asserted: “My magic apron and I can do no wrong!” Hanzo chuckled; McCree was ever spirited even in hardship. “We shall see about that.”

 

*****

 

“Now that that’s settled, I’ll tell you what this snout is keen on. Leather, straight bourbon whiskey, and seein’ as we’re lettin’ all the cats outta the bag… gardenias.” Hanzo was appalled; the delicate plant had come from left field: “The flower?” McCree put his hands up in front of his chest as he bashfully beamed: “I _know_ , I know. But hear me out, there’s a story to it.” “Please go on,” Hanzo requested. “Tough doesn’t even _begin_ to describe my first year in Blackwatch. The boss and I locked horns on the daily, I was a fish out o’ water, and I was constantly askin’ myself “why the _fuck_ am I here”?  One day I had a stupid temper tantrum, stormed out of trainin'. Ran like a chicken with its head cut off until I randomly picked a room to bust into and cool off. Turns out I booked it right into Ana’s office; I was so mad I didn’t even notice her name on the door. She did what any mom would do: calmed me down, asked if I wanted to talk. Never gave my break-in a second thought; in fact, I made them a weekly thing after that. Each time she’d have a fresh bouquet of flowers in a blue vase on her desk, always the same kind. White blooms, with waxy petals. Eventually I asked her about them- she told me that they were gardenias, and that someone had them delivered every Friday. Naturally, I did some sleuthin’- it was Reinhardt. The big dope had no clue that she actually _hated_ them… but she never turned them away. Did you know that flowers have meanings? I looked into it a while back- gardenias represent protection, trust… and secret love. Wonder if he ever told her? Anyway, their smell was so sweet, so soothin’… I guess they make me think of how she made me feel back then. They didn’t have any at the florist’s in town… too bad.” The tired cowboy gaped as he grew more drowsy from his medication, giving the archer an exclusive view of the back of his mouth. He raised his metal hand in cover much too late: “Whew… my bad. Seems I’d better catch some z’s.” Hanzo’s tone was mild as he rose from his seat: “Just so, McCree. You should rest… your body has been taxed.” McCree was sincere as he felt his eyelids grow heavy: “It’s crazy to think that in some other universe, we might not’ve met. I’m so glad I came knockin’ that day.” “Let us not entertain the conjectural, McCree. We cannot undo our meeting… nor would I want to. Sleep well.” McCree’s sendoff was sleepy, but sure: “Thanks, Hanzo… for everythin’. I’ll be back before you know it.”

 

*****

  
As the dragon of the south wind retired to his lair, he looked inside himself: _“Ikigai- it is_ _the things that make one's life worthwhile, a reason for being. Without the clan, without my brother… I had lost sight of my own. I was content in my sentence to traverse the darkness, to be blind in my despair. Jesse McCree… I once thought you to be incorrigible. You have taught me much since then; I know now that it is always darkest before the dawn. Perhaps with you by my side… I will find it again.”_


	19. Distance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S BEEN 84 YEARS! Ok not really, but it seems like it's been that long, doesn't it? I had a lot going on in the past month and I wasn't in the right head space to put words to keyboard. I still have a few hurdles to clear with my tale, but I am intent on finishing it. Just when I think I'm done, I have more story to tell. Thank you so much for your patience and continued support! Chapter 20 won't take nearly as long, I promise :P

Night falls over Hanamura. The moon gleams too brightly as buildings ebb and flow beneath its glow; the castle that watches over all not spared from the warping of the world. In this mirror of reality, nothing is as it seems.

 

*****

 

Two young men face each other in the heart of their ancestral home. A resplendent scroll looms over them, a silent sentry to their confrontation. They, two brothers, have reached an irresolvable impasse.

The heir unsheathes his katana, uncompromising. His eyes, once so ignorant to the cruel nature of the world, hold no trace of humanity; they can only chastise and blame. The child that he once safeguarded is but a distant memory, for a selfish man now stands before him.

For the prodigal son, garish green hair cannot disguise the blackest of sheep. He no longer recognizes the emotionless swordsman in front of him. He stands, though he trembles in place: convicted, confused, and afraid. He knows that his life cannot be bartered… yet he stands.

Hanzo tightens his hold on the hilt of his blade. He takes one last look at Genji in appraisal as he slowly raises the curved steel skyward, hand over hand. The clan elders had spoken; there was no worth to be salvaged. Hanzo assumes his stance, his weapon poised to carry out his murderous duty. He does not shield his eyes from the heinous act to come. Unyielding, he lunges forward as the metal carves through the air in his downward strike… but the edge does not meet flesh. Much to Hanzo’s disbelief, Genji had vanished without a trace.

 

A moment later, a familiar but haunting voice whispers in his ear: “He who lives by the sword, _dies_ by the sword.” The family heirloom falls to the floor in a clatter, its wielder gasping in pain as he is speared through the back. Hanzo falls to his knees, noticing that his body is now of the present day; the dreamland had aged him by a decade in an instant. He looks down to see the green underside of _Ryu-Ichimonji_ in contrast to the bright red of the fluid freely flowing from his body. The cyborg stands over him, paying no mind to the shank in his torso. As Hanzo’s shaking hands become blood-soaked, Genji coldly evaluates him: “Don’t you remember your favourite virtue of bushido, Hanzo? _Meiyo_ … honour. A warrior has only one judge of honour and character, and that is themselves alone. The decisions they make and how they choose to execute them are a reflection of who they _truly_ are.” The floor beneath Hanzo begins to shift and writhe, morphing into violent waves that swallow and drag him into their depths. His sibling and his home dissolve before his eyes as if to banish him anew. A beautiful scarlet trail from his gash dirties the aqua as he descends. The sparrow addresses him one last time: “You cannot hide from yourself, _brother_.” Genji cackles in his send-off: his laughter a false requiem. As he sinks into the expanse, Hanzo can feel his life force slowly dwindling: _“I thought that this was what I so desired… but even in this fictitious death, I can find no comfort. Why?”_

 

*****

 

When he awoke, Hanzo’s hands wandered to his abdomen as if to ensure that the fatal wound was indeed that of a nightmare. His insides had thankfully not been mangled in merited revenge, but something else _was_ amiss. As he tried to shake the graphic images from his mind, he noticed that his living quarters were eerily still; all he could hear was the sound of his own breathing. With that observation came a deeply strange realization: where was the clumsy clattering of dishes? The sometimes elephantine footsteps? The carefree whistles sprinkled in between sessions of contented humming? Instead of the commotion that had once annoyed the archer so, all was stagnant. It became clear that the gunslinger had not let himself in as he usually did. Odd? Yes. Illogical? No; Hanzo suddenly remembered that McCree had been ordered to stay in the infirmary for observation. Surely he was there, and there was no need for alarm. Besides, despite his heartfelt promises, Jesse McCree was ever a man of free will. Even under normal circumstances, they were not bound to each other. Maybe one day he would realize that Hanzo was just another damaged good, another burden strapped to his back. If that day came, Hanzo knew that he was more than capable of taking care of himself; that was all he had, in the end. He refused to acknowledge the other option, which had been inching up through the cracks in his foundation like the most headstrong of weeds.

 

His thoughts were redirected; the pain in his chest flared up as he moved from his bed. Hanzo couldn’t believe that it had been almost three weeks since he had been injured. Although the discomfort returned in bursts from time to time, it was already a fraction of the beast that it was thanks to Dr. Ziegler and her atypical assistant. He tucked the cowboy into a corner of his mind as he got himself ready for the day. He eventually made it through seven combs out of nine through his hair before he heard a knock at his door. A feeling of dread spread throughout his body until he heard an instantly recognizable Swiss German accented “Hello?” from Angela Ziegler soon after. “Just a moment,” he called out, unable to leave his ritual unfinished. After two more motions, he gathered the glossy strands to tie up with his scarf as he made his way over to the entrance and beheld the base’s “guardian angel”, who smiled genially in salutation.

 

*****

 

“Good morning, Hanzo. I do hope I’m not calling at a bad time.” Hanzo noticed that she looked much more rested than when they had last met: her freshly ironed white lab coat and neat blonde ponytail added to her angelic appearance. Even he, a staunch introvert, was not immune to her kindly aura. He responded civilly: “Greetings, Dr. Ziegler. Your presence will never disturb, I assure you. May I help you?” Her eyes looked past his shoulders as she spoke, subtly shifting directions as she tried to scan the room behind him: “Ah yes... hmm. Oh, I was wondering if you’d seen Jesse this morning?” Hanzo raised an eyebrow at her body language: “No... he has not been by. Is something the matter?” Angela regained focus as she realized that there was no sign of the cowboy, scandalous or otherwise, behind the archer: “Not at all! I discharged him last night and simply wanted to check in. He seemed to be out when I went by his room, so I thought I would ask here.” _Interesting_ , Hanzo thought. The last time McCree had gone into town, it had been by invitation. However, he was still unfazed: “I understand. If I do see him, I will pass along that you wish to speak with him.” “I’d appreciate that. While I’m here, are you well? How is your chest?” “It is progressing well, thank you. I have no concerns.” She brought her hands together in gladness: “That’s wonderful news! I won’t bother you a moment longer, but do keep me updated.” “I will.” She gave a mellow wave as she started down the hall: “Take care, Hanzo!” As he made his way to the kitchen to prepare his tea, Hanzo firmly decided to give McCree the benefit of the doubt. He seriously hoped that he was buying flowers; the _last_ thing they both needed was more trouble.

 

*****

 

Tea was enjoyed, knees were bent in meditation, and stretches were done to relieve tension in his muscles. After a few short hours, Hanzo had exhausted his solitary activities. He made a move out of character, deciding to take a walk around the grounds of the watchpoint. It was not out of a desire to socialize, but rather to rule out any other possibilities as to the gunslinger’s whereabouts. He saw no detriment to this outing; if he was going to make his triumphant homecoming at the practice range in a timely fashion, this exercise would only aid him. If he _did_ happen to come across McCree, he would be interested to see if he had a story to tell. If not, at least Hanzo knew that he had done something to help himself return to form.

 

Slowly but surely, the archer made his rounds with his head held high. He looked far ahead of his steps, taking care not to accidentally cross paths with a certain individual. He spoke to no one, not caring to divulge the cause of his excursion. Any confused looks and remarks made with covered mouths were reciprocated with his signature glare of indifference. His decisions were, indisputably, none of their business. He revisited the practice range, the airship hangar, the underpass and the seaside roof in a twisted but bittersweet route. He briefly considered going to McCree’s, but elected not to; he _did_ say that he was not one to pry. All the while, a single sentence played on loop in his mind: _“I’ll be back before you know it.”_ Hanzo figured that those words would ring true. When had McCree ever failed to deliver on his oaths, like it or not?

 

After some time, his feet took him back to the lackluster residence that he now called home. Today, it seemed, would be just like old times. Hanzo stared at his door for a moment in thought: _“This is how things used to be... and perhaps how they should stay.”_ He sighed as the keypad beeped and the knob complied to the turn of his wrist. He took two steps to cross the threshold… and then he saw it. His surroundings blurred as the white envelope laying orderly on the floor overrode everything. _‘Omne trium perfectum’_ \- everything that comes in threes is perfect. But on this occasion, it could not be any further from the truth.

 

*****

 

For hours the envelope remained in place, as if nailed to the floor of the dragon’s domain. To Hanzo, it may as well have been coated in shards of glass; he had no desire to even touch the accursed paper. He paced in the face of his tribulation: cadenced and controlled in his coping. A Pandora’s box was in his vicinity; with each stride, his musing deepened. _“What good has come of my occupancy here? These people, this place… to none I owe any obligation.”_ He knew that he was only lying to himself, but continued on regardless: _“I could have freedom of movement. I could leave here without qualm. I could retire to my former way of life, to disappear.”_ The person whose absence that he still felt so strongly barged into his mind: “ _Should the seal remain… I would hinder him no longer. My jinx would be dispelled. That in itself would be my repayment.”_ Hanzo Shimada was autonomous; he had relied on himself for as long as he could remember. Severing ties had become second nature as a result. He was a man of many endings… yet this time, he could not let go.

 

An epiphany stopped him dead in his tracks; the dots had connected in the most unlikely of ways. The world lost all colour as Hanzo realized why his spirit dragons had warned him on that morning so many months ago. It hadn’t been for the letters, nor the attacks. His guardians’ roars rang in his ears as he grasped their prophecy: that the person he would come to care for the most... would be spirited away.


	20. Sharp

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my favourite songs these days is "Gasshow" by Illion. I keep thinking about a few translated lines in particular- to me, these are very much Genji-like:
> 
> Is it fate, or by chance?  
> Your soul that was lost between yesterday and today...  
> I got this life in exchange for it.  
> So my body is nothing but a keepsake-  
> I'll take care of it till the end.

_Denial_ : the rejection of thoughts, feelings, or facts that are consciously intolerable. _“No… **Cease this madness at once!** ” _As Hanzo struggled to suppress the spirits, he refused to believe any of what was happening within him. The distortions began to pile up; the air surrounding him had _not_ thinned in his distress, and his stone heart had _not_ been wrung like a flimsy dishcloth. He was both a criminal and a killer, for which soft sentiments were _not_ permitted _._ He was _not_ attached to Jesse McCree… but that was the greatest lie of them all.

 

The veins in Hanzo’s neck protruded as he bared his teeth at the tainted trigger still sitting near his door. _“Will they never leave me be? I may be a Shimada… but I am not my father’s son. I no longer subscribe to his crooked dynasty.”_  He pressed several fingertips into his temples as the migraine persisted; his eyelids were but a backdrop for unsettlingly animate shapes, both alien and familiar. Hanzo pried an eye open in an effort to reorient himself. He stumbled over to the envelope as he cursed under his breath: _“_...Damn it all!”  His only chance at relief, it seemed, would be to face that which he feared.

 

*****

 

Hanzo inhaled deeply as his weight rested on bended knee. His left hand anchored him to the floor as his right jerked forward in its averse arrest. He strangled the envelope with his fist as the ringing in his ears gained a pulse of its own. So forceful was this throbbing, he did not notice that an unwanted visitor had made his entrance. When Hanzo opened his eyes once more, the cyborg stood over him- a sight all too familiar. Genji crouched to offer his hand out of brotherly concern: “Are you alright, Hanzo?” Hanzo growled, the offending voice jarring: “ ** _You_** _…_ When-” “A moment ago.” “ **HOW** -” The trickster of the past re-emerged; Genji chuckled, amused by his own deduction. “I have known your passcode for some time, brother. I have learned how to think in different ways. Logic can be quite the tool. Would you like to know how I solved the puzzle?” Too fatigued to protest, Hanzo snarled as Genji continued: “Like mine, there are four kanji in your name. _Shima. Da. Han. Zou._ The stroke counts for each are 10, 5, 5, and 15. How did I get four single digits from this? These numbers are all multiples of five:  _2, 1, 1, 3_.” His reflective disposition returned once his reveal had been completed: “I knew that behind every decision you make lies meaning… and that despite everything, you still bear this name with pride.”

 

Hanzo’s knee buckled in defeat, his descent abrupt. He spoke one word, as ambiguous as it was sharp. The dragon’s question smoldered beneath his crestfallen surface: _“Why?”_ The sparrow wasted no time in explaining himself: "I could sense your distress. Your spirit and mine have always been connected.” With his offer of aid fiercely rejected, Genji stood up and stepped back. However, he did not do the same in his speech: “While I was in the monastery, there were times that I felt my spirit fading away. A slow collapse into self destruction… like a dying star. Bitterness had burrowed into my being; it gasped for air as it was smothered by rage. However, as mine was in jeopardy... your spirit stayed with me. It gave me something to hold on to, though it never burned as bright as how I remembered it. Over the years, I trained my humbled soul to seek balance instead of vengeance. I accepted that in order to become something, you must first begin as nothing.” Although they were obscured by his metal mask, Hanzo could unmistakably feel Genji’s eyes upon him: “You _destroyed_ me, Hanzo... but in doing so, you made me stronger. Your act was not my demise; from disaster came a blessing. Eventually, my dragon returned to me. I now soar on my guardian's winds once more.”

 

*****

 

A moment of silence passed between the estranged siblings; one stood in self-respect as the other knelt in resignation. Eventually, the elder snickered in his scorn: “How _naive_ you are still, imbecile. I understand your words… and yet, I do not. Knowing full well that I ended your life… why do you so _senselessly_ invest in mine?” Hanzo tossed his crumpled correspondence to the ground. For once, Genji set aside courtesy in favour of inquiry: “I have questions of my own that I would like answered first, brother.” Hanzo’s fists trembled as he squeezed them in fury: _“ **Why, you-** ” _Genji casually folded his arms in contrast: “You came back here to wait for _him_ , didn't you?” Like a dog backed into a corner, Hanzo barked out: **_“And what if I am?”_** Genji’s voice was steady, his diction both cool and composed: “...You’re worried. You've scarcely spent time apart since you were injured.” Hanzo flinched, his rage steeply declining in disavowal: “Ha, nonsense! McCree is more than capable of managing his affairs.” Genji smiled to himself; he had hit the jackpot: “Is that so? Then why are you waiting?” Hanzo finally got back to his feet to size up his rival, whose involuntary enhancements had made him taller. Hanzo’s language became rather snippy in nature: “ _He_ is a valuable asset to the team. _Many_ would await his return.” Genji couldn’t resist pushing one of Hanzo’s many buttons: “I see no one but you here, brother.” Hanzo’s stare was icy as his tongue was aflame: “ _You_ are here, are you not?” The sparrow had to concede: “Hmm… touché. Very well, I’ll say my defense." Taking a moment to breathe, Genji found his center: "I link my life with yours simply because I know of your true heart.”

 

In response to this absurdity came a crescendo. Starting low, each syllable that passed through the dragon’s lips became more knife-like than the last: “Tell me, o enlightened one… what would **_you_** know of my heart?” The sparrow spoke just above a whisper: “I know that it is not as blackened and disfigured as you make it out to be.”

 

Unaltered by this claim, Hanzo’s fuse fizzled out: “How disappointing… you _truly_ know nothing. You would do well to take a page out of the cowboy’s playbook. It seems that he finally comprehends the calamity I leave in my wake.” As Hanzo turned his back to his pesterer, Genji clamped a determined hand on his right shoulder: “You’re wrong, brother.” “Tch” Hanzo huffed. “I have realized so much in this past decade. As soon as I learned to look inside myself, reality itself changed before my very eyes. Experience is but a name we give to our mistakes… and I came to know just how much of it I had accumulated in my short time on this earth. I grieved for what I had lost… but ultimately grasped that grief is not as heavy as guilt. I lived in envy of my former self… but eventually understood that the sheer act of living is the greatest miracle.” Genji’s palm wandered off of the fabric as he traveled back in time: “Hanamura… back home, everything I had was thanks to you. You gave your life for mine so that I could live as I chose. You never stopped caring for me, though all signs pointed otherwise. While outsiders and peers saw a stuck-up, impersonal perfectionist, I saw my older brother… trying his best to shoulder the weight of the world." He paused, hoping for a reaction. Something, _anything_ to indicate that Hanzo was indeed listening. His wish was not granted, but still he went on: "What I felt from your spirit was but a fraction of your suffering. I decided that if we ever reunited, I would refuse to let you face another hardship alone... here we are.” Hanzo gazed blankly at the wall in front of him. His lack of an answer was the loudest reply.

 

*****

 

“If you won’t listen to me, brother, perhaps _this_ might convince you otherwise.” Genji opened the compartment in his right forearm to take out a folded piece of paper nestled amongst his shurikens. He cleared his throat to deliver the unexpected message:

> Genji-  
>    
>  I had to get away. Somethin’ didn’t feel right. He sure as hell won’t believe ya, but please tell Hanzo that it’s not his fault.   
> I’m sure he won’t mind that I’m gone, but pass it on, ok? Here’s lookin’ at you, kid.”
> 
> Jesse

Hanzo whipped around and wordlessly snatched the note from Genji’s clutches, analyzing it with a detective’s level of scrutiny. It had been written on lined paper, and judging from the ragged top, torn from a notepad in haste. Genji pled his case as Hanzo’s eyes inspected the smudgy pen streaks that made up McCree’s writing: “He didn’t leave you behind, brother- not this time or any other.” The sparrow finally revealed his well-intended ploy: “Many months ago, _I_  asked him to train with you as a favour. McCree can befriend anybody, and I wanted that companionship for you. He could have walked away at any time… but he _didn’t_. You may not want to hear it, but he cares for you too much to do so.” Hanzo stared at the inky arrangement of his name, slightly lopsided but there all the same. Genji interjected in urgency: “Even if you ignore that element- the obvious fact remains that our friend isn’t here, and that he may need our help.”

 

Genji ignored Hanzo’s sudden refusal to speak: “That final line… it was another riddle for me to solve. I thought that it sounded familiar, and then it came back to me. There was one Valentine’s Day in particular… I had just finished undergoing some tests. I caught him watching a movie instead of working through his combat handbook. He denied it at first, embarrassed- then told me he did so every year. That movie was “Casablanca”. You’re well traveled, brother… I’m sure that you know what I’m hinting at.” Hanzo did not need to be told twice- he instantly made the connection. McCree had left his intended path in plain sight. Not wanting to waste precious time, he had left the note with Genji, his friend and neighbour. Whatever it was that spooked him, it had made him want to leave Gibraltar altogether. However, he had smartly chosen not to venture too far should he need assistance. Just across the sea, Casablanca was the largest city in Morocco. Genji called out to Hanzo, whose head was still in the clouds: “Knowing what you do now… what will you do, brother?” After picking up the battered envelope, he slowly walked around to confront the dragon face-to-face: “Will you stand by?” He wrestled Hanzo’s left fist open and thrust it within: “Or will you take action?”

 

*****

 

The dragon’s dark irises shifted from side to side, performing a frantic dance between the objects held in each of his weary claws. Genji was right- but Hanzo had no desire to give him the satisfaction he craved. The admission itself was already difficult enough. He had a decision to make, and it had to be done promptly. He slowly aligned his vision to the face of the man whose name he dared not utter. A reminder, the principles of  _bushido_ came flooding back. One virtue struck him like lightning; _chugi-_ duty and loyalty. Warriors are responsible for all that they have said and done, including the consequences that follow. They are immensely loyal to all of those in their care. To everyone that they are responsible for, they remain fiercely true. Jesse McCree was already living by this honourable tenet, and Hanzo recognized that it was his moment to do the same. He would go in pursuit, for he had not yet finished paying his dues. His brand burned in time with the rhythm of his heart as he stalwartly stated his verdict: “I will depart at dawn. Take that as you will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all, 
> 
> I hope you're well! I guess I broke my promise from last time that this update wouldn't take forever, but that's life. I'll be the first to admit that my mental health isn't perfect- last month I went through a depressive episode and basically lost interest in everything. It's probably why Genji is so philosophical in this chapter. I'm finally starting to feel better, and it's great to be able to write again. Hopefully this chapter isn't too rusty as a result. As always, thank you so much for your readership!


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